


Do No Harm

by riosnecktattoo



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beth helping Rio with PT exercises, Beth popping by on Rio!, Canon Compliant, Enter Beth, F/M, Fascinating, Flirting, More angst, Post S3, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rio has an apron kink, Rio showers in an unattended locker room you say?, Sexual Tension, Shower Sex, Woman on Top, hitman is in the past, how the turns table, predictable UST, set a little after S3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26255161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riosnecktattoo/pseuds/riosnecktattoo
Summary: Beth and Rio are working together and have put the past behind them. Until one night when Beth notices that Rio might not be as fully healed as she'd assumed.When he shuts her out, Beth uses Fitzpatrick's list of incidentals to track him down and old wounds are reopened.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 147
Kudos: 407





	1. Witness Marks

**Author's Note:**

> hello! :) my first multi-chap wahoo!
> 
> So yeah ever since the OT and the unattended locker room shower situation was mentioned in 3x10 in that list of incidentals I've thought/hoped we were gonna see Beth burst in on Rio doing these things later. So this fic will have her doing that! Angst! (but fun stuff too promise)

“Well? What do you think?”

He’s got his hands behind his back, clasped together as he strolls between the different makes and models of hot tub. His movement controlled and calm, but his eyes are jumping over the space with keen interest, taking in all her aesthetic choices for the layout of the accessories and tubs. Beth bristles at his evaluation, ready to snap if he makes the wrong comment.

_Move them yourself if you don’t like it._

But she falters at the genuine look of admiration when he glances at her over his shoulder.

“What you want me to say, Elizabeth?” he drawls as he stops walking to give particular interest to one of the larger acrylic spas, releasing his hands so he can drag his fingers along the edge of it, finding the console for the LED lights, tapping the buttons like he expects them to come on. Pouting when they don’t.

If he’d bothered to show up earlier, he’d know nothing’s plugged in yet.

“Just be honest.” Beth sighs, coming to stand by his side.

He presses the button with the little lightbulb symbol etched on it with more insistence, his brow furrowing when he isn’t met by a low blue light display from the four corners of the tub. Beth is suddenly taken aback by how much he looks like Marcus, the time his Spiderman toy wasn’t making the crackly noises it normally did when it had a full battery.

She clears her throat, waving her hand out at him. “Will you _stop_.” She commands. Rio lifts his face to look at her finally, amused as he slowly drops his hand from the panel.

He rolls his shoulders as he locks eyes with her again, angling his body to level her with his full attention. Beth squares up.

“It’s aight.” He shrugs.

Beth double takes. She’s been working here for days, overseeing everything, _everything_ , getting Boland Bubbles ready to open officially. Ready to wash cash through. After all the delays, after all the hard work she’d put in, after they’d finally gotten to a place where they felt on equal footing, months of pain sorted and struggled through, she deserved more than his indifference.

Beth narrows her eyes, dropping her voice an octave to mimic him, “ _It’s aight_. Seriously?”

Rio chuckles at her impression, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets as the smile peels across his face. “Shit. That what I sound like?”

“You know how much work this has taken. I _know_ you know that. So stop acting like you don’t think I’ve done a good job because we both know I have.”

Rio chews on his bottom lip as he watches her, blinking slow as he makes a rumbling sound of approval in the back of his throat. Then he’s casting his eyes around the space again, a sparkle in them as they reflect the amber light from the bulbs in the ceiling.

When he brings his eyes back to meet hers, there’s a warmth there. A pride that he can’t deny. Beth shivers as she releases the breath she was holding.

“You done real good, darlin’.”

Her heart flutters as they just stare at each other, the silence stretching a little longer than it should.

She takes a deep breath in, clearing her mind. “I know.” is all she offers in response, her sing-song voice echoing out as she smiles sweetly.

She’d missed this. She’d never admit it, but she did. The moments between them where all he can see is her and all she can see is him. Back when they hadn’t done unforgivable things to one another. When they weren’t aware of exactly how much pain they could inflict and have it do nothing to erode their connection.

Because it was here, in the room with them right now. The air desperate with it. Howling from a vault buried beneath shallow earth. Waiting to be exhumed.

Beth blinks too fast, smoothing her clammy palms down the side her jeans as she shifts her weight, before deciding to cross her arms over her chest to stop herself from further fidgeting.

Rio grins, his whole face lighting up with it, jutting his chin out as he changes direction, “So when’s the grand opening?”

“Any day now. Just a few more final touches and we’re good to go.”

Beth turns her body away as she speaks, slowly starting to walk in the direction of the office, her heels clicking lazily on the linoleum, hoping he’ll trail after her the way she had just been shadowing him. She bites back a smug smile when she hears the scuff of his converse as he moves to follow.

She registers the sound of him tapping the edge of the hot tub she’s passing, closer behind her than she thought when she stops to look over her shoulder. Catching how his eyes are cast down low, captivated by the swing of her hips, before he drags them back up to her face.

“This the one you got for my boy, huh?”

Beth turns her attention down to the six-seater. It’s not exactly the same as the one she’d bribed Mick with, but it was near enough.

This one had fewer add-on features. Mick had specified the need for elaborate jet functions that didn’t bear thinking about.

“Pretty much.” Beth nods as she notices movement on the street outside. It’s late and the only car parked on the sidewalk is Rio’s huge G-Wagon. The car that Annie had drunkenly suggested stealing for a joyride before Ruby had pointed out that even if she could pull off the heist - her feet probably wouldn’t reach the pedals.

She can just make out Mick, leaning against the passenger side of it. Waiting. Eyes down on his phone. Face lit up periodically by either the white light of the screen in one hand or the burning ash from the cherry end of his cigarette in the other.

“Why’s _he_ here?” Beth blurts out.

She thought they were over his obvious usage of the man as a buffer, but there he was. His presence, even far away, an irritation.

“Aw, you know how it is. Can’t be too careful in the suburbs.” He twists to lean back against the edge of the tub, face turning serious. “Wasn’t that long ago you had a hit out on me after all.”

Beth’s face drops.

They’d been through this. They had it out. They had screamed and shouted and railed at one another but it was behind them. They had agreed to move past it. _All of it_.

She had gotten to a point while working with him again where she knew she didn’t want him dead. Quite the opposite. She wanted him with her. _Working_ with her. All those feelings she had been too afraid to look at and name, struggling to the surface all at once.

So she called it off. Annie and Ruby had looked at her with those strange knowing eyes that irritated her so much, but she was eventually able to assure them that he wasn’t a threat to them or to her. Because he wasn’t. Not in the way she had forced herself to believe. They were moving forward as business partners. He wasn’t going to hurt her and she refused to hurt him ever again.

And they told each other as much. Everything rushing out of them one night like an unstoppable tide they couldn’t swim against any longer. A release. And it felt so good to let go. To be honest.

It was ugly and awful. But it was freeing. And Beth felt like she could breathe again for the first time in months.

She was still unreasonably irritated by the fact that he had _known_ about Fitzpatrick the whole time and never called her on it or tried to stop her. Beth had even yelled at him _Why didn’t you say anything?!_ which only made them both laugh at the absurdity of it all.

They were so fucked up.

Still, she hated when he mentioned it like this. All casual. It’s not like she brings up the night in his _Loft……_

No. Other than that one choked, teary admission of how that night haunted her with guilt and confusion and fear. Other than the raw _I’m sorry_ she had sobbed in to the judgeless dark of her palms in front of him. Other than his confession of regret for what he did to her, they never touched on it again. Ever.

Beth sighs, shaking herself out of it, staring him down as he watches her carefully; waiting to bounce off whatever reaction she gives to his goading.

“That’s not funny.” is all she bites out, but he thinks it is judging by his laugh.

“Right, right. My bad. Bygones and all that.” And he’s smiling still, but something mournful passes over his face as he looks at her that she wishes she hadn’t seen.

It’s gone as fast as it appeared, and then he’s standing up straight, pushing away from the edge of the tub to turn and look down at it, placing both palms flat against the rim. He swings his chin round to her, eyes roaming over her body lazily as he drinks her in from head to toe, his bottom lip hanging heavy, mulling over a thought in his head and when she drops her eyes to focus on his hands she can see the way his fingers tighten against the plastic panelling. Like he’s trying not to touch her. A dim rubbing sound in the quiet from the friction of his skin that goes right through her.

“You tried ‘em out yet?” he drawls, breaking her out of her trance.

The way his eyes have gone dark and hazy instantly remind her of his words….

_I’ll take a dip._

Beth tucks her hair behind her ears for something to do. “Not really a priority.”

“Well, offer still stands.”

_Wanna join me?_

He stands up to his full height then, sauntering a little closer to her in that slow, almost predatory way of his.

This was business. _Business._ He can’t show up late, poke at some hot tubs and then rattle her like this. “That won’t be necessary.” She’s aiming for unbothered, but her words come out a little higher pitched than she’d like.

Rio hums, a sound gravelly and low in his throat, coming to stand right in front of her. “You sure? Should really know all the ins and outs of what you sellin’, right? Tellin’ me you ain’t up for a little _market research?_ ” he drops his gaze to her chest, to the mottled blush creeping over her collarbone, licking his lips like he can taste it. Like he remembers.

“I’m all good. Thanks.”

“I just know how you like being thorough, ma.”

Beth can feel the heat in her cheeks but also the irritation. He’d been heavy with the flirting recently. More easy with it as they started enjoying themselves around each other again. And she’d liked it. _A lot_. But they couldn’t do _this._ How could he want to? How could she? Not after everything they’d done. He’s joking. He has to be. And if he _wasn’t? -_ well _-_ what does he want her to do here anyway!? It’s not like they fill the tubs up with water on site. She’s not climbing in to an empty one with him and she’s _definitely_ not about to test the structural integrity of them either.

She doesn’t think her warranty covers sex damage with a gang leader.

She ends up throwing her hands out in the air in exasperation, because he really is being ridiculous.

“I’m not exactly _dressed_ for it.” She gestures at her tight jeans and floaty peach shirt, a mocking smile on her face to tell him she’s over this game. But the huge devilish grin that bursts across his face at her words and the silence that follows tells her she doesn’t need any clothes for what he had in mind.

Beth rolls her eyes as she turns away, but she doesn’t get more than a few steps before his voice calls her back to him.

“Walk me through it.” He asks evenly.

“What?”

“Walk me through it.” He taps the hot tub beside him, “I wanna see how you’re gonna move all these things.”

“Why?” she scoffs.

“Why not?” he shrugs, “You need a guinea pig before you open, right? And you know _all_ there is to know about this stuff? So hit me with it.”

Beth wonders what his angle is. Is this a test? To prove to him she can actually run this place, that she can sell these things in a way that her husband couldn’t sell cars.

And it’s absurd. But she knows she’s got this. And _hell_ \- who doesn’t love showing off?

“Fine.” She agrees.

“Fine.” He nods, ready for the next game.

Beth saunters towards him, leaning heavily in to each foot, hoping he can read the confidence running through her limbs as she approaches.

He does. _He likes it._

Beth plasters on a sweet expression, fluttering her eyelashes at him, all charm and easy flirtation when she nears. “What can I help you with, Sir?”

Rio sucks in a shaky breath and she wonders if she should try this on him more often.

He swallows hard, the ink on his throat rippling over his Adam’s apple. “This one.” He points his chin toward the tub, “Tell me about it.”

“This is a six-seater acrylic hot tub. This particular model has a premium lighting package, _when it’s plugged in_ , a state-of- the-art sound system and LED speakers. Perfect for entertaining.”

Rio’s nodding along when she turns to him, watching her speak intently, enjoying her little show. “Aight. I’m interested. What else?”

Beth moves closer in to the side of the tub until her thighs are pressed against the panelling, leaning over slightly to point to the jets. Rio’s eyes revering the curve of her ass as she does so.

“This hot tub is designed specifically with hydrotherapy in mind. Using these jets,” she gestures around the edges, before leaning back up a little, “you can provide yourself with a deep tissue massage from the powerful water flow. Great for pain relief and muscle tension, helping ease any aches. So, if you a play a lot of sports, this would be perfect.”

When she glances back to Rio, his gaze has moved to the jets she had been pointing out rather than the tease of her bent over the plastic siding. She clocks when he frowns, rolling out his left shoulder, before reaching his right hand up to squeeze on the joint gently. He holds it there for less than a second when he notices her watching him and drops his hand abruptly back to his side.

“Go on. I’m listening.” He grunts, trying to brush off her questioning look.

What was he doing? Was he hurt? It was his _left_ shoulder he’d seemed bothered by suddenly. But – that was the - _no._ He’s _fine._

“Go on. You losin’ a paying customer here.” He urges, snapping her out of it.

Beth clears her throat and continues her spiel. “We can also offer many different types of seating, depending on the size and model.”

“Oh, yeah. Such as?” he moves to her side, close enough she can smell his skin. Fresh and rich. Beth had once agonised over how much he smelt like her kitchen when she baked. The cinnamon and spices taunting her with his memory during those months when she’d thought he was _gone_. Reminding her of his body thrumming with life, close to her own. Like it is now.

“Well, you could have a lounge seat, so you can lie back and really relax.” She keeps her focus down on her hand gripping the tub as she feels him move closer still, filling up her periphery.

“Mmmhmm. What else?”

Beth turns her face toward him then and is immediately met with the dizzying blackness of his eyes. His lips far too close to her own.

“There’s also a thing called a Captain’s Chair where you can be almost fully submerged.” She can tell she’s starting to stutter but she can’t stop. “It’s more supportive. You don’t have to – um – balance your body weight so much.”

“I like the sound of that.” Rio reaches up to tug gently on the ends of her hair, twisting it round his index finger.

“Or there’s bench-style seating that allows people to sit next to each other more closely.” Her eyes are fixed on his lips, trembling as her breath comes in shallow.

“Close like this?” Rio pushes his body up against her softly, slotting his leg gently in between her own, making an indulgent noise of pleasure as he does so.

It spikes something low in her belly and Beth shivers, nodding a little too enthusiastically before trying to regain some sense of control. Flicking through her mind for boring facts. What was the last thing she’d read about? Oh yeah –

“These models can also have adjustable jets. So – uh – you’re in complete control of the _pressure_ -” Rio pushes in then so their chests are crushed together, his pelvis tight against her. “And you can change the speed of the jets to deliver one of three different massage settings.”

Rio’s eyes drop to her lips, his voice deep and husky as he purrs, “So, say I wanted it _nice_ and _slow_? You could do that for me, huh?” His body rocking against her gently as he says it.

Beth distantly hears herself keen in to the space between them, desperate now for him to touch her, for him to close the gap between them finally, _finally_ , no matter how wrong it might be, when she’s startled out of it by the sound of a car horn splitting through the thick silence.

She wobbles back, her legs a little uncertain, before whipping her head round to find the source of the noise.

Mick has the driver’s side door of the G-Wagon flung open, his hand reaching in to press down on the button at the centre of the steering wheel. His face suddenly appears around the edge of the tinted window, glaring at them with what Beth could swear is tired disapproval.

When she turns back to Rio he’s staring at Mick, dragging his hand down the line of his jaw like he’s frustrated that he brought him along.

That he clearly asked him to keep him in check around her and failed.

It’s too obvious. The timing of it. And he knows she knows it when he looks back down at her.

“I gotta go.” He huffs out, before she can make a comment.

“Okay.”

“You got what I need?” he asks. The silky edge to his voice unbalancing her all over again.

She must show it on her face, her blue eyes wide and questioning because he smirks, reaching out to pinch her forearm affectionately.

“The keys, mama.”

And yes. Right. Of course. The whole reason he’d come by this evening. The twin set of master keys she had made for him.

She had been resistant to it at first, feeling like she didn’t have any obligation to hand over a set of keys to what was meant to be _her_ concern. But it became a compromise. A symbol of solidarity. A show of good faith that they were equals in everything that went on here. It also meant he would be able to come by after hours to use the back room for deals if and when he needed, and if Beth was honest, she wanted to be closer to it all. To prove they could make a good team. That they could share the keys to the Kingdom.

Beth turns to walk in to her office to grab the spare set off the desk while Rio waits on the showroom floor, his attention turned toward Mick on the street again like he’s trying to prove that he isn’t magnetised to her side.

Like he had been since he’d arrived.

When she comes to her office door, clinking the set of gold keys in her fingers, she leans her shoulder against the frame, a few metres from where he’s still standing by the tub. Reluctant to get caught up in his closeness, far too aware now of their audience.

He turns his head back to her when he hears her heels stop, and then they’re just watching one another again. The charged silence stretching out between them until Beth feels awkward under his penetrating focus.

In an attempt to ease out of it, she rolls the keychain into her right hand, throwing it up and over to him playfully in a high arc through the air.

His body is angled in such a way that it’s his left hand that comes up to catch it, his arm lifting sharply out of reflex, elbow almost level with his shoulder when the keys land safely in his palm.

But it’s the sound he makes. A low grunt of exertion. His arm frozen at a right angle for a moment in pain. The grimace on his face all she can see. His eyes scrunched up as he swallows down the hurt from the sudden action.

It’s the shoulder he was favouring earlier. The left one. The shoulder where her first bullet had gone in.

All the air rushes out of her suddenly as his eyes open and zero in on her. He drops his arm swiftly back to his side like it never happened. But she can see in the strain of his knuckles that he’s syphoning his discomfort from her concerned appraisal in to the press of the metal keys he now holds. Crushing them until they grind together in his grip.

Beth’s mind races. _He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s alive. He’s healed. He’s here. He’s fine._

_Isn’t he?_

He had never seemed hindered in any way by what he’d been through. Storming back in to her life so vibrant and strong and alive that she just assumed he had fully recovered. That he was untouchable. That he was too strong for three bullets to slow down.

She had never seen him falter. Never witnessed anything that suggested his wounds were still wounds he dealt with. But then, she reasons – he’s never had to exert himself around her. Not since he’s been back. Never had to move that arm in such a way that wasn’t controlled.

Never had to use his left shoulder in the way he just had. In a way that hurt him.

Anyone else might think nothing of it. Just a normal muscle ache. A twinge he could ease in time. Something that will pass as swiftly as it had come about. But she wasn’t anyone. She could see it in the clues of his movement – only she knew how to read the witness marks of what she’d done.

He sniffs, vibrating with tension as he cricks his neck to look away at anything else, anything but her, before abruptly turning on his heel and heading for the exit.

“Place looks great, ma.” He grits out with his back to her, his retreating steps full of impatience to get away as he shoves the side door open.

And then he’s gone.

* * * * *

“All I’m saying is - I have an urge.”

Beth’s pouring herself a second glass of bourbon - it’s only lunchtime, but she’s already had a _day_ – and tries not to roll her eyes as Annie balances weirdly in the chair on the other side of the kitchen island. “Annie. Stop.”

“Come on, dude! It’s right there! And it’s so big!” she gestures frantically to the centre of her own face. “Can I at least _mention_ it?! I mean, it’s killing me.”

“ _I’ll_ kill you if you say anything.”

“Please _pleaseeeeee_ let me point out the shiny elephant in the room. Somebody has to. Honestly, I’d be doing us all a favour.”

She’d asked Annie to come over before her shift to help take her mind _off_ Rio. Not to drive her crazy with her desire to address his nose-stud at the meet they had scheduled at the weekend.

_If he even showed up to it._

“He doesn’t need you to point it out, I’m sure he’s aware it’s there.” Beth swirls the golden liquid in her glass, picturing the diamond stud in her mind, the way it glints when he turns, how he’s caught her looking at it when he talks. She can’t explain it. She’s never really liked face piercings, not on anyone, but there’s something so – _pretty_ about it on him. Less severe than all the other things that make him up. The sharp, close-cropped hair. The dark clothes. The lean lines of his body. The black tattoos. The thick heavy rings. The stud feels, weirdly, more like _her_. Decorative and delicate in a way she understands - and _likes_.

When she looks back up Annie is watching her closely, eyes narrowed in almost cartoonish suspicion.

“ _Uh huh_.”

“What?” Beth shifts from side to side awkwardly.

“Methinks he’s not the only one ‘ _aware that it’s there’_.”

“I’m not doing this with you.”

“Well that’s not a no.”

“Annie. Please. Can we just – not.” Beth sighs heavily, lifting a hand to rub at the bridge of her nose.

“Jeez, what happened with you two?”

“Nothing.” she stammers, downing the last of her drink.

“Oh my god, did you _bone_?!”

Beth sputters over the bourbon in her mouth, choking a little as she swallows it.

“I _knew_ you freaks couldn’t keep it in your pants! Ruby owes me twenty bucks -”

“No! Stop okay – we just – he – _ughhh_ I don’t even know cause I haven’t _seen_ him!” she shrieks, the frustration that’s been building up over the last week spilling out of her.

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to fill in some blanks here.”

Beth shakes her head, not knowing where to start.

Since that night in Boland Bubbles, since that split second of unhidden pain he had unintentionally shared with her, Rio had gone completely silent. All her messages and calls ignored. Like she didn’t exist. Like he was hoping she might forget about it if he stayed away for long enough.

She had, perhaps naively, hoped to see him pop up when they officially opened on Saturday. It was a fun afternoon, all the work being forgotten while Beth got to just _enjoy_ what she had made happen. The place looked amazing. Some friends showed up, the new employees, other local business owners. Beth even talked some of the PTA Mom’s in to helping out with drinks and snacks.

At one point Annie had been playing with the now fully functional light systems on the spas, scrolling through the various settings, and Beth had felt an absurd sting in her chest that he wasn’t there to see it all in action.

She had worn a deep red dress, littered with white spots. _The_ dress. The one with three new buttons sewn in at the bottom. Nobody would ever be able to tell they had been torn off in a dirty bar bathroom when Rio had slipped between her legs, wrenched her thigh up harshly around his hips and fucked her so hard she couldn’t see straight.

_Nobody but him._

No. Only he would know how to read those marks. Just like she could read his.

She had imagined him strolling in at some point, just to show his face. To prove he was in this with her like he said he was. That he would be weaving through the crowd smoothly and then come to an abrupt stop when he saw her. That he would touch every inch of her body with his eyes like he was reliving the last time she wore this dress in front of him. That he would see it for the message it was and come back to her.

But that didn’t happen.

Beth steadies herself. She’ll give Annie the cliff-notes, but she can’t get in to the real _why_ of his avoidance. Not without dredging up painful questions and concerns she’s not prepared to deal with from her right now.

“Last week – something happened. Not bad, not _good_ , just. Something.”

“You’re really not gonna elaborate on that?” Annie pushes.

“It doesn’t matter, the point is – I can’t get a hold of him. He’s shut me out. And I know it’s because of what happened and I know it’s cause he doesn’t wanna talk about it and I actually _get it_ , I do, because, hell, _I don’t want to talk about it either!_ but - but it’s like he’s vanished in to thin air just when everything was starting to run smoothly and _how dare he do that_ and I can’t – I just - I - ”

“You need him.” Annie finishes for her.

Beth picks at the side of her empty glass, seriously considering a third refill. “I need him to _not_ be a terrible business partner is what I need.”

“Is this because he didn’t show up to the opening thingy the other day? Cause, dude, no offense, but I don’t think that was really his scene.”

“Why wasn’t it _‘his scene’_?”

“Beth, your weird PTA henchman kept trying to offer me facon-wrapped dates.”

“And?”

“ _Seriously?_ I mean, we’ve done some bad shit in our time but –”

“Okay, you’re getting off-topic.” Beth waves her hands between them, picking up her empty glass and gesturing for Annie to hand hers over. Beth moves to the sink, regretting bringing any of this up at all.

“What _is_ the topic here exactly? Homeboy ghosting you? Like he’s never done that before.”

Beth whips round, leaning against the sink edge. “This is different!”

“Then fix it! God, quit waiting for him jump out of the hat and pull that sucker out yourself!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Go find his scrawny, tattooed ass and demand that he cuts the crap. It’s not like he doesn’t pop by on _you_ all the time. Only fair you return the favour.”

Beth stares at Annie, trying to process what she said. Why _was_ she waiting for him? Why was it always on his terms?

Oh, right – because she has no idea where he lives or where he goes or what he does.

Her only lead was the bar and she'd already stopped by. More than once. Nothing.

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that? I have _no idea_ where to find him!”

“Sure you do.” Annie slides off the chair, landing with a little thud as she grabs her denim jacket off the counter to put back on.

“No. I _really_ don’t.” Beth nods at her, eyes wide like she thinks she’s being crazy.

“Okay, so you’re telling me you _don’t_ still have that wackass list of expenses from our friendly neighbourhood hitman?” Annie squints at her again, mocking. Her little hands open toward her like claws, fingers spread in accusation as they flail about to underline her point.

“You know, the one with the details of _everywhere_ he followed your boy to. All the places he hangs out at. What times. Basically your gangfriend cheat sheet. You _don’t_ still have that?”

Beth’s mouth gapes, a million thoughts and possibilities in her mind. Because she _does_ still have it. Tucked away somewhere. Forgotten about.

But full of information on Rio and where she can find him.

“That’s what I thought.” Annie smiles smugly, tugging on the glittery lapel of her jacket all superior, twirling away to head to her shift at the store, leaving Beth to grapple with this new realisation. “Happy hunting!” she shouts out, before the front door clicks closed behind her.

Beth is stuck in place for a second, then rushes from behind the counter, trying not to slip on the hardwood floors with her bare feet, making a beeline for her bedroom.

She knows it’s in here _somewhere_ , but everything was still in such a mess. Her clothes everywhere, furniture not placed correctly. She hadn’t really had time to stop and sort through it all since Rio had delivered it all back.

She used to keep it in her purse at all times or, when she was at home, shoved it down the back off a kitchen cabinet the kids couldn’t reach and Dean never touched. But when her furniture was back and the cupboards needed to be filled with kitchen things again, she remembers grabbing it and taking it in her to room, unwilling to throw it away just yet.

She reasons that she would have put it in a draw that was exclusively _hers,_ turning towards the dresser and yanking open the top three, rifling through her underwear and pyjamas and t-shirts.

Nothing.

She rounds the bed, heading to her side table. Everything in here is cluttered together and disorganised. Hairbands and old jewellery and other random trinkets she thinks were chucked in there by whoever did the removal of her things to begin with.

She pulls the draw out as far as it will go and underneath an old, nearly empty hand cream bottle she sees it stuck at the back. Rolled in on itself. The paperwork that Fitzpatrick had given detailing incidentals she owed him for his surveillance of Rio.

Detailing where he had followed him to, on what days and at what time.

She pulls it out and sits back on the edge of the bed. It crunches open, stiff from being creased up in the draw for so long, but eventually yields and flattens in her hands, and Beth immediately begins to scour through.

It takes a second to acclimate to the layout of it. To understand what parts link to what days and times and filter out the receipts for expenses Fitzpatrick had incurred at these places.

Some of the things are impossible to make sense of beyond the food or parking they involved, but a good amount of the boxes have recurring entries. Proof that these were things that Rio did on a schedule and never missed.

She can make out an entry for 3pm on a Tuesday at a Country Club that she recognises as being the _really_ fancy one downtown. The one Fitzpatrick mentioned Rio plays tennis at.

The image of him running around a clean, bright court in tennis gear is strange enough, but now she wonders how he’s managing it, or how much he’s really playing at all, if he can’t catch a pair of keys without it causing him pain.

Beth moves on. It’s Wednesday today. She needed something she could use that was closer to _right now._ Not something that meant another week of waiting and wondering while he ignored her.

There are a few more sporadic, indecipherable entries that don’t help her at all before she clocks one on a Friday. A valet parking receipt for a really expensive sushi restaurant called _Hot Stone_ that Beth vaguely remembers googling for Ruby once, pinned to the top of the page, next to the charge for an Omakase lunch. She remembers when Fitzpatrick had told her about it, when he filled her in on what the paperwork really was.

It was an option for sure, but she ideally wanted something today. Her eyes taking one last scan of the information before her.

Then she catches on something she’s seen before, something she hadn’t understood at the time.

OT. Occupational Therapy for manual dexterity.

She remembers reading that with Annie and Ruby in the car that day, when they still thought everything on this list was something Fitzpatrick was charging them for selfishly, not that they were places or things he was doing because it was where Rio was and he needed to shadow him.

Annie had joked that Fitzpatrick needed it for his trigger finger and that had been the last of it. She hadn’t revisited the forms since.

But now she’s seeing it with new eyes.

Was Rio getting therapy for his shoulder? Because it still wasn’t _right_ even after it had healed? Because he was still suffering with it - still being affected in his day-to-day life?

Beth hadn’t noticed her eyes welling up until her vision starts going blurry from unfallen tears at her lash line.

She sucks in a stilted breath; lifting the heels of her palms up to press harshly into her eyes and rub the wetness away, shaking herself out of it.

The appointments are weekly. Wednesdays. 2:15pm. Address about 30 minutes away.

Beth’s heart starts to race as she checks her watch. 1:39pm.

If she’s going to do this, it has to be _now._

* * * * *

She’s pulling in to a space in the parking lot before she’s even stopped to think about what she wants to say to him.

She hadn’t got that far yet. She just wanted to see him and end the game of hide and seek.

But now she’s here, outside the Hutchins Private Therapy clinic, her dashboard clock flashing 2:23pm.

And she’s starting to freak out.

She had left as soon as possible, throwing on some flat shoes, a clean sweater and grabbing her purse, bolting out the door before she could make up excuses and leave it alone. Hoping that if she ran a few red lights and got lucky with traffic she would make it before his session started. Catch him outside the building. Before he goes in to whatever room he goes in to and does – well – she’s not sure. She doesn’t want to picture it. What it might look like. Him, pliant in someone else’s hands, struggling with himself without pretence or performance of strength. Seeking help. Making that pained expression he had made in front of her as a therapist coaxes him through a range of motion. It feels too strange in her mind.

And the _why_ of it – the knowledge that it’s because of what she did – the remnants of her bullets. Like she’s living under his skin. Something they couldn’t dig out of his chest with the rest of the shrapnel. Something more enduring than that. _Her_. Buried in him. Bone deep. Every scar whispering her name.

She was faced with it now. A choice. Turn around and drive home or barge in on him at his most vulnerable and end this cycle of avoidance.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Beth jumps out of the minivan and pays for her parking at a machine near the front door. When she turns to scan the lot, her eyes land on a giant car in the far corner. Rio’s black G-Wagon.

_Well. At least he’s definitely here._

The double-doors to the clinic push open easily and Beth is relieved she didn’t need some kind of special hand-signal or retinal scan to get in to this place. She can practically smell the money as she walks in to reception. The heavy golden wood of the counter, inlaid with gleaming white marble. Devil's Ivy climbing up the back of the wall around it, meeting in the middle of the ceiling to create a welcoming arch. The skylight above shining light on the jasmine petals weaved throughout.

The pristine waiting area, only one other person sitting on a long white sofa as gentle music plays. Pastel green candles are dotted about and there’s a huge shelf full of books for all kinds of ailments.

It doesn’t seem to be a large building, so she thinks she should be able to find the room Rio’s in without arousing too much suspicion.

In theory.

“Hello there. Can I help you?” a syrupy sweet voice beckons her from behind the desk. A young brunette, with huge white teeth and a bun slicked back so tight it’s taking her eyebrows with it, smiles up at her, eager to please.

Beth beams back and goes in to action.

“Hi! Yes. Thank you so much. Um – I’m here to pick up – a friend from his session today but I’m _super_ early. Am I okay to just – hang out in the waiting area until he’s done? It’s way nicer in here than my car.” Beth’s smile is starting to hurt her cheeks, but she thinks the receptionist – Madison – is buying it so far.

“Oh, yeah sure! Not a problem at all. I can get you a glass of lemon water while you wait?”

“No, no that’s fine, thank you.” Beth glances around the space, noting there’s only one corridor off reception, a sign saying ‘Therapy Rooms 1-3’ on the wall. “I could use a bathroom though. Is it just -?”

Beth points innocently toward the hallway leading off from the waiting area and Madison nods, guiding with her sharp hand movements. “Of course. Turn down the corridor, past the equipment room, past the therapy rooms, turn right, and it’s the last door at the end, can’t miss it.”

“Thank you so much.” Beth gives one last tight grin and then pivots. Passing by the sofas and stepping in to the corridor, her smile completely dropping as she loses her audience.

The corridor stretches for a bit and Beth sees where the wall becomes mostly glass on her left side, a window in to a room full of large contraptions for recovery work.

Then she’s met with the first room. A small plaque tells her this is Therapy Room 1 and when she peeks past the ajar door she can see that it’s not currently in use.

That left Rooms 2 and 3. Both doors are closed and she can hear muffled speaking coming from behind them. Beth strains to listen for a moment, hoping she’ll be able to catch Rio’s unique rumbling voice coming from one of the rooms and save her from making a 50/50 choice on which one to burst in on, desperate to not interrupt a complete strangers session, but she can’t make out anything that sounds like him.

She fidgets on the spot, beginning to panic, when Therapy Room 2’s door opens and two women walk out. Beth turns quickly like she was still just on her way to the bathroom and waits until they’ve moved in to the equipment room before she doubles back.

To Therapy Room 3.

Her heart beats irregularly against her ribcage, pounding in her ears, every instinct telling her to just _go home_.

But he’s right here. He’s _right here._ And why does he get to pick her up and put her down and disappear? When does she get to set the terms? When is she allowed to demand his time and interrupt his day? When will they be _equal?_

_Right now._

Beth squeezes down on the door handle and pushes forward, rushing in to the room braced for an argument. To get answers for his sudden silence toward her, silence she didn’t deserve. Silence that hurt like an old wound.

But all of that vanishes, her whole body turning numb, when she sees him.

Rio is standing side-on to her, his left arm lifted high up by his face, bent at the elbow so his bar tattoos are facing out and his fingers nearly touch his shoulder as he slowly rolls through the joint. The muscle in his bicep contracted, veins in his arm straining against the surface of his golden skin and a sheen of sweat making him shine under the harsh lighting. There’s an older woman standing in front of him, dressed smartly, arms crossed as she leans back on a navy treatment table, glasses perched on the end of her sharp nose while she focuses in on Rio’s movement.

But it’s his bare torso, three rough scars on what was once smooth skin which she never let herself picture, that she wasn’t prepared for.

She immediately brings her wide, startled eyes up to Rio’s at the same time that his find hers. And she can see that discomfort in him, that look of hurt, as he drops his arm down to his side too quickly.

Someone is speaking. She’s aware of that much. A muffled sound like they’re trying to communicate with her from underwater. But everything in the room that isn’t Rio has gone blurry. She sees his mouth move in the direction of the fuzzy speaking, the therapist she assumes, trying to get her out of the room. Rio’s deep voice cuts through the fog so that she can make out the words _Leave us, please._ and then she’s back in her body enough to realise that the therapist has gone. Left her with Rio. The sound of the door clicking shut louder than a gunshot in her mind.

She’s still staring at him. Begging herself not to cry. _Please_. She didn’t come here to _cry._

“Elizabeth.” Rio growls. His hands balled in to fists at his sides.

Her mouth opens. Nothing comes out. All she can see are the scars. Two silvery irregular circles - one near his clavicle on the left shoulder, one over his lung - and a jagged streak high on his stomach, interrupting the sharp, hard lines of muscle there. Evidence that that bullet had been harder to retrieve than the other two.

She had to _see it_ to really believe. That night suddenly feeling more like a real, tangible thing instead of the murky nightmare it had become. Proof that he had risen from the dead. Clawed his way back. To his family. To his work. To _her_. And the uneven marks on his chest seem to bleed anew in her mind. Unstitched. Unhealed. Like it could all be undone. Like she might lose him again.

Beth has the strange, sudden urge to reach out and make sure he isn’t as fragile as that.

“Elizabeth.” He repeats, more urgent, trying to divert her eyes back to his own, “What’re you doin’ here?”

“I – you –” she struggles for a moment, trying to articulate the root cause of her reason for showing up here. “You were _gone_.” is all she can croak out.

“I’m right here.” he seethes, knuckles clenching tighter.

Beth tries to regain some of the frustration, some of the anger she had felt at his desertion.

“You know what I’m talking about. Last week when you – when I saw you – when I saw that you’re still _hurt_ \- you’ve been ignoring me because of it.”

Rio’s jaw rocks, the muscle running down his cheek flexing beneath the soft line of his beard as he grinds his teeth, taking a step towards her.

“Oh, you wanna talk about this now?” he gestures up to his chest, “Baby, there’s nothin’ else to say. It’s done.”

“How can you say that?!” Beth whimpers, her eyes beginning to fill with tears in spite of herself, “Look at where we are! It’s not _done_. It’s still happening to you. It’s still hurting you and you didn’t say anything!”

“I don’t gotta say anything bout nothin’! I handle me, you handle you. That’s it.”

“That is _not_ it.”

“So you followed me here for – what exactly? Moral support? Whatchu think? That you could put three rounds in me and it’d be all good?” He barks, stepping nearer, his chest almost unbearably close.

“No! I just – you can’t shut me out! We’re _partners._ You owe me that much.”

Rio’s black eyes turn anguished as he looks at her. “I don’t owe you _this_ , ma.” His eyes flicker down to his chest for a split second, “This is _mine._ ”

Beth can feel the tears falling down her cheeks when she shuts her eyes tight. Unable to look at him in front of her. So close. So vulnerable.

Because he’s _right_. His pain was his and she had no right to it. But it didn’t stop her need to ease it. To know it. To be there for him. An instinct to balance out the scales of good and bad things between them. One they had let tip so far in the wrong direction.

When she opens her eyes, he’s silently watching her. A strange mix of patience and irritation she’s become accustomed to with him. He’s still angry, she can feel it vibrating off him, but he’s waiting for her to speak.

“I shouldn’t have come.” She whispers, nibbling at her bottom lip anxiously. “ _I shouldn’t have come._ ” And she turns towards the door to leave.

But Rio’s hand reaches out, grabbing hold of her wrist and dragging her back to face him.

“Hold up.” He growls, “Don’t you wanna take a closer look? This what you came for ain’t it?”

“Stop it.” Beth whimpers, stumbling back, hurt by his words.

And she gets it. She does. The pain she caused. The agony. The violence. Something he’s still physically dealing with the fallout from. Something he’ll always visibly carry.

But it’s so unfair.

Just because she doesn’t have scars you can see. Just because her skin is still smooth and untouched. Just because she seems intact and whole, doesn’t mean she is.

She carries wounds from his actions too. Gnarled deep within her and barely healed, right in her heart. In the space that she made for him.

And from the look on his face, the flicker of guilt, he knows it.

Beth forces herself to look to his chest again with a calmer eye. To map it out and change her perception of him in her mind. Flashes of him bathed in sunlight above her dissolving in her memory like ink in water. A version of him, of them, that she had cherished and longed to return to, shifting forever to include these scars.

She’s lifting her hand towards him then, trembling a little as she reaches out tentatively to place her fingertips against the jagged stripe on his abdomen. Her touch feather light enough that she hears Rio’s breath hitch, sees the tightening in his chest, as she strokes the uneven patch of skin tenderly.

“I wish we could take it back.” she laments.

Rio’s hand comes up to lightly cover hers, peeling it off him slowly. A strange look, something like pain, crosses over his face as he watches his thumb stroke the back of her hand, before he evens out his expression and lets her go. “We can’t.” he mumbles, weary from it all.

Beth can feel a breeze rush through the room from the window cracked open in the far corner. Can see when it washes over them. The little goose bumps that ripple down Rio’s left side as the cool air kisses his hot skin. The ends of her hair being carried across her face.

She’s too numb to lift her hand up to brush it back down, eyes still pinned to Rio’s. But she can see the way he traces it, pupils fixated on how the loose tendrils have settled and stuck on her bottom lip, wet from tears.

He lifts his left arm up, slow and controlled, until his little finger meets the corner of her lips, and glides it back down the side of her cheek, pulling the ends of her hair off her mouth.

Then he’s sweeping his fingers back across her jawline to cradle under her chin, nudging her face up the tiniest bit while his thumb presses in to the indent of her dimple, holding her there for a moment. Studying every part of her.

“Forward, mama.” He hums, finally, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. “Forward’s all we got.”


	2. Lie To Me

Beth falls back on to the bed with a huff of air that flutters her bangs, star-fishing her limbs towards the four corners and stretching right to the ends of her fingers and toes, relishing the little pops and clicks of release as they travel around her body.

She’s working at home today, her office at Boland Bubbles currently occupied by Dean and she just – she can’t be around him right now. His constant presence was starting to suffocate her and the more she repaired things with Rio, the more she regained her sense of freedom, nurturing that independent part of herself that made her feel alive, the less she was able to play the wraith, the unsustainable veneer, the _Bethie_ that Dean would find palatable but made her want to scream.

There was a breaking point on the horizon, but until her work was more settled, until she knew for certain what reaching it would mean for her life and her children, she was refusing to acknowledge its approach. Channelling her energy in to ensuring Boland Bubbles was a success first and foremost.

Annie had offered to pick up the slack for her today and keep her updated, clearly enjoying selling spas more than minding an empty convenience store, and to keep an eye on Dean.

She’d also sworn to let her know if Rio swung by, but that was unlikely.

She hadn’t seen him since the disastrous encounter at his therapy session last week. He had looked her in the eye and said they only had a _forward_ and then held her chin in his hand a little longer with what felt like affection. Then, offering an uncomfortable smile, turned his back on her. Apparently reaching the limit of his vulnerability, before asking her politely to leave.

He also said that he would stop by soon.

He hadn’t.

He’d sent Mick alone to meet with her and the girls on Saturday, and he wasn’t any use. Only sighing deeply when needled about Rio’s absence.

He had, however, been replying to her texts. Short, sharp, nothing but business. Enough to let her know he wasn’t vanishing on her.

Or perhaps it was just a precaution to stop a repeat of her popping up on him unannounced.

Probably a bit of both.

She had replayed it all. Over and over. The quiet agony of it. The moment he caught the keys. The split second after she opened the therapy room door, his mouth in a silent grimace from the prolonged effort of keeping his arm up like that.

But the thing she was wrestling with most of all, the thing like an itch in her brain, that felt wrong and foolish, was how much his pain was just – just _upsetting_ her. And it wasn’t because she pulled that trigger, it wasn’t even the normal concern she would feel for anyone she saw hurting.

No. This was focused and white-hot in her gut, the way she couldn’t bear to see him like that.

The way, in another life, she might wrap him up in her arms and kiss his furrowed brow and cover him with delicate comfort and he would let her. Let her be the source of good in his day when he was weary and let her see those wrinkles appear at the corners of his eyes when she eased it. The way she could be the thing to heal him _right._ In a way that matters.

In a way you want to heal your _person._

But he wasn’t hers. He was – she had no idea at this point. It had gotten so blurred recently, the tension ramping back up between them so fast and overwhelming when they had _agreed_ it was just business -

But did they ever really believe that? Or was there just something inevitable about them. Something driving them endlessly back to each other.

Back to this. Back to this _something_.

Beth rolls on to her side, eyeing her phone in the creases of the bed sheet.

He hadn’t stopped by. She hadn’t surprised him.

But she wanted to see him and fall back in step. To the place of relative ease they had gotten to. She didn’t want it left to fester any longer. Time making everything more awkward.

What if – _she_ _just asked?_

She _had_ been meaning to run an idea by him after all. Had been going over the logistics for it all morning. Changing the back room of Boland Bubbles, currently sitting empty aside from an old basic desk, three beaten up chairs and some stacks of unwashed cash, into a space for them to print more permanently.

Printing at Paper Porcupine, after hours, in a space that wasn’t specifically _hers_ and therefore not under her control, was beginning to become an issue. An unnecessary stressor, risk outweighing benefit, so she’d been playing with the idea of setting up a press under her own roof.

Since it was the space Rio had reserved for, well - unknowable Rio stuff, she figures they need to talk about it. _Right?_

And if it got him back in a room with her again – that was a just a bonus.

Beth grabs her phone and sits up, finding their text thread on her phone, typing out a message and hitting send before she can chicken out.

_Can you come to the house? Urgent._

It wasn’t . Clearly. But he’d only find that out if he actually showed up which was still super unli…

Her phone vibrates. A response.

_On my way._

Beth freezes.

_Well, shit._

* * * * *

It’s 20 minutes later, after she’s done a nervous lap of the house and fretted with the indecision of changing out of her jeans and violet V-neck sweater into something more – just something _else_ , when there’s a knock at the French doors.

How did he – how did she know she’d be in _here?_

But then again she’s pretty sure the front door was a myth to him at this point.

Beth eyes the paperwork on the end of the bed. Floor plans for Boland Bubbles that need amending, profits from the last week, a brochure she’d been given at the opening detailing ways to expand the variety of her stock and the new models coming to the market, and a coded book to keep account of the money they had made and how much had been washed.

She had rustled them a little, fanned them out to make it look like more of a pleasingly believable work scenario, to try and make this _urgent_ matter seem urgent.

She pads barefoot to the door, Rio’s shadow against the curtained glass already a strange relief to her before she opens it and sees him in the flesh for the first time since that painful day last week.

He’s looking down, scowling at a scuff on the toe of his pristine converse, before he lifts his head up sharply to be face to face with her. The soft sunlight creating an aura behind him, his eyes curiously wide open as he takes her in, making the moment feel a little too crushing in its nostalgia.

“Yo.” he hums, stepping forward as Beth angles herself out of the way, Rio passing closely by her as he strolls in to the room.

“Hi.” she squeaks, closing the door behind him, ignoring the déjà vu, the sting, when he whips his chin round to face her.

He’s shifty, hands in his jean pockets, tension clear in his stillness, and suddenly his eyes are traveling all over her face and body, but not in his usual playful manner. It’s like he’s checking she’s still acting the same around him. Fearful of a change in her attitude towards him after the shift of their last encounter. It feels more like worry. Like _concern_.

“You alright?” he bites out, and Beth is desperate for him to just _relax_.

“Yeah. Sure! Of course. _I’m great_ \- You?” Beth fiddles with her sleeve as her words rush out of her, but her buoyant energy undoes something taut within him, undoes the anxiousness - because they still feel like _them_. And she can see when his lips tug up at the corners the tiniest bit, something fond creeping in to his eyes.

“I’m good, mama.” He smiles warmly, a little lopsided and a lot charming, and Beth nods in return, letting her breath out on a deep exhale – Okay. Maybe she had been anxious too. “So whassup? You don’t really seem to be puttin’ out fires over here.”

Rio turns casually to take in the room, and Beth is too stuck on the fact that he hasn’t been back in here with her since _that_ day to answer straight away.

He stoops a little to run his fingers over the paperwork on the end of the bed, before looking back up, waiting for her.

Oh yeah. The very _un-_ urgent thing.

The flimsy excuse to get him here.

Beth narrows her eyes; aiming for serious and assured as she tries to make this sound like it was a good enough reason to ask him over. “Right, no - yeah, um. I had a – business idea that I needed to run past you and it – it couldn’t wait.”

Rio’s eyebrows raise a little in barely concealed amusement as he bites his lower lip. “Is that right?”

“Yeah, a really – time sensitive situation.” She awkwardly averts her gaze down to her steepled fingers, unable to stand the knowing wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes.

“Aight. Lay it on me. I mean, since it’s so _time sensitive_ and whatnot.” He shifts to grip his hands behind his back, waiting for her to give up the ruse.

It makes Beth bristle a bit because it wasn’t _all_ ruse! She does actually have an idea. She hadn’t just lured him here for – for – well whatever he’s thinking that was definitely _not it._

She strides away from the French doors, coming to stand near him at the foot of the bed, sucking air into her lungs to steady herself, but it only draws Rio’s focus down to the swell of her chest.

She clears her throat, “I’ve been thinking about the empty storage room, the space you wanted access to. And I’ve been thinking about my current system for printing the cash and how it’s not exactly viable long-term in that building. So I want to move it. To somewhere that is viable. To the empty storage space.”

She said it all so fast she’s not sure he caught it until he nods slowly, considering. “You mean _my_ empty storage space? You got the stuff you need to do that? That oldass press ain’t yours to take, far as I recall.”

“Right, it isn’t and they’re _not_ easy to get a hold of, but I put some feelers out and I’m pretty sure I _can_ get my own. After the business starts turning over more money, I think it’ll be a good investment. More practical too. I’ve got the logistics all set out here if you want to -”

He’s looking at her expectantly, waiting for something else. Something smug in the set of his jaw. And she realises he’s waiting for her to explain the urgency in this.

She sets her shoulders and stares him down. “And for reasons I won’t bore you with I needed to know I could start changing the room around _today_ so - - yeah.”

He huffs out a laugh, rocking his head down to the mess of papers, squinting like he can somehow _tell_ she arranged them that way, before he turns his gaze back on her.

“We’ll give it a try.” He shrugs.

They smile at each other for long a moment before Beth nods sharply, bending to shuffle her papers together neatly for something to do.

She notices Rio in her periphery slowly move away from her side to look around the room. Catching how he reaches out with his right hand to lazily drag his fingertips across the floral comforter on the end of the bed. The one they had once kicked at with a frenzied need to _get it out of the way_ of their desperate bodies, bunching up at their ankles as he’d settled between her legs.

She can’t help it then. The need to study his movement. Watching as he reaches the dresser, stretching out with both arms, hands nimble as he picks up a dove-grey picture frame that had been pushed to the back, collecting dust. Bypassing all the ones of her and Dean, staring intently at what she thinks is the photo of just _her_ , taken by Ruby at the beach so long ago, before she even had Kenny. A blurry, sun-bleached fragment from another life.

But she’d always liked how happy she looked in it.

And judging by the twitch at the corner of his lips, so does he.

All his actions seem fluid and normal. No grimace on his face. No sharp pain. No hiss of discomfort. And she’s so curious all of a sudden - curious as to the extent of his hurt. Curious which specific things are inhibiting for him.

“Stop.” He grumbles, as he pulls the cuff of his shirt sleeve over the heel of his wrist, rubbing the dust off the glass, before placing it back down gently at the very front of the display, nudging it into alignment with the rest.

“Stop what?” she tears her eyes away, gathering up the last of the papers in to a messy stack when -

“Stop lookin’ at me like that.” He twists his body to her then, dark eyes boring in to her as she turns away from him to place the messy pile of paperwork on the seat in the corner.

When she turns back something crystallises in her mind. The clock on her bedside table catching in the corner of her vision - telling her it’s 2:23pm.

And it’s Wednesday today.

He watches as these pieces come together, able to read the shift in her immediately, and steels himself for her words.

“You missed it? To be here?” she whispers. And it’s not really question. It’s written all over his face.

She’d asked him to come over and he’d ditched his therapy session for her.

He blinks slowly, his mouth opening in a soft pout as he sighs. “You said it was urgent.” he shrugs, like that means something to him. No pretence or avoidance. Unable to hide.

It makes Beth feel tingly all over for some reason, the thought of him seeing her message and sprinting over here, dropping everything.

He could’ve seen her before today. So why now? Was he waiting for her - for her to ask?

He shoves his hands back in his front pockets, “Sides, figured you’d charge in on me again if I didn’t come. Wasn’t down for a repeat, darlin’.”

She giggles a little nervously, bringing her hand up to rub at her temple, still embarrassed over the whole thing.

“You gonna tell me how you knew where to find me?”

Beth squints at him, a wry smile playing at her lips. “No.”

“Fair enough.” He drawls.

Beth feels the tension humming between them, the energy in the room changing as his heavy lidded eyes drag down her body, all the way to her cold, bare feet.

And it all feels too achingly familiar. Too severely different given the fracture that exists between _then_ and this moment.

She stares at his black button-up, at the set of his shoulders, at what she now knows is beneath.

And it doesn’t frighten her anymore.

“Does it hurt? Right now?” she whispers.

His body goes still, eyes fixed, the muscle in his jaw flexing hard, trying to decide if he wants to share this part of himself with her, any more than he’s already been forced to.

“A little. It doesn’t – it doesn’t all the time. S’not like that.” He admits, watching her carefully.

Beth works to stay calm, to stay logical, to not dwell on the past. To just be here with him right now.

 _Forward_ , he said.

“What’s it like?”

“Elizabeth –”

“Please.”

There’s a flash of pain in his eyes as he looks at her that he tries to swallow down, but it doesn’t seem physical. Something he blinks away as he drops his chin to chest with a rough sigh, before tentatively moving closer to her, coming to stand between the end of the bed and the cupboard.

“Sometimes I don’t even notice it. It’s when I do certain things, move in a certain way. Too fast, too high and it’s like - broken glass under my skin. If I use my left arm too much – just feels weaker than it should. Aches like a bitch first thing in the mornin’. When I try to get dressed, sometimes my fingers feel numb – little precise things trip me up,” he stops to flex his hand and she can see the unease, the irritation that something isn’t bad but just _off_ in what used to be such assured, strong movement. How frustrating it must be for him.

When he flicks his eyes back up to her he’s cagey - wary of her reaction - but it’s also like a weight’s been lifted from him.

“I dunno,” he continues. “Sessions only help for like five minutes and then it’s back again anyway so – is what it is.”

He rolls his left shoulder, in that way that makes his face scrunch up, and it is _urgent_ then, her need to ease it.

“Let me help you.”

He looks at her in confused awe for a second, the warring instincts clear on his face. His need to run. His craving to have her close.

“What?”

“You missed it because of me. I want to help you.”

“You serious?” He mocks, but he wants her to be, she can tell.

“Don’t I look serious?” Beth lifts her chin, unshakeable in her resolve, and he gives her an appreciative once-over like he’s genuinely curious to see where this goes.

Beth clears her throat, “What’s something your therapist would normally do? In your session? What does she help you with?”

Rio cricks his neck, and she’s not entirely sure he’s going to be truthful, something devious playing across his face as his hazy eyes take her in. The scenarios he’s envisioning projecting to her, making her feel like her sweater is suddenly too warm.

He saunters closer, within arm’s reach, “I’d normally start off doin’ everyday things, y’know, things that I’m finding – not so easy, so she can see how I’m getting’ on, if it’s any better.” He reaches out with his right hand to brush her hair back, laying his heavy palm flat on her shoulder, before dragging it slowly down her arm as he speaks, “Then depending on how I do she’ll take me through some exercises.” His eyes follow the path of his hand, but he looks up then, deceptively innocent. “Sometimes she’ll get a PT in the room to move me through em, she’s way more hands on though.” Pinching her forearm as he lets her go.

“‘Hands on’?” she stammers.

“Yeah. Warm ups, harder exercises, all kindsa things.”

His black eyes sparkle with challenge, like he thinks she won’t go through with it. That he knows, as much as she may seem steady, she doesn’t want to be faced with his pain again. Trying to unsettle her. To get her to back down.

“Okay. Walk me through it.” She fronts. Echoing his words to her from that night in Boland Bubbles. She barrels on, “What’s the first thing she’d normally have you do?”

Rio adjusts, pulling back on the playfulness when he realises she means it. Gearing himself up to be vulnerable with her again, his fingers squeezing in to tense fists. But his face is serene, peaceful in his appraisal. Seemingly touched by her willingness to do this.

He gestures down with his chin, “Take off my shirt.”

Beth gapes at him, eyes wide.

“I’m supposed to try to do the things I’m strugglin’ with, or replicate it. Then they do shit to help me get back to it. The buttons,” he shakes his head, trying to explain, “Sometimes I can’t – It’s a good way to -”

“Okay.” she assures him sweetly, her heartbeat pulsing in her ears.

“Okay.” And then he’s lifting his hands slowly to fiddle with the top of his shirt, holding her eyes with his as he does so - hypnotic in their ability to unmoor her from her surroundings.

Is this really happening? Is he really here? In her bedroom again – slowly taking his shirt off in front of her with that charged _look_ in his eyes and _god_ she wishes he could turn that off. The heat pooling low in her belly a distraction from his hands. Spiking something between them as he travels his fingers down, popping each button carefully, revealing more and more of his golden skin.

It’s so agonisingly slow, the silence of the room punctuated only by their uneven breathing.

He drops his eyes to her neck then, to the way her chest is heaving a little, to the pink blush she can feel travelling down below the V-neck of her sweater and she clocks the way he sucks his bottom lip in to his mouth at the sight.

Beth shakes her head a little to refocus. Because that’s not what this is about. _It’s not_ -

She sees his hands gliding down to the last few buttons on his shirt, nothing out of the ordinary in his movement, until he stops abruptly to shake his left hand, flexing and contracting the fingers, before taking his hand back to the third from last button.

“Are you - ?”

“I’m fine.” He bites, trying to get purchase on the shirt enough to push the smooth disc of the button out and through, but his left hand seems less exact now, less precise, fumbling with it.

Beth lurches forward on instinct to stand right in front of him, reaching out her hand to cover his, stilling him. She gently nudges his hand away from the button as he watches her, completely absorbed in her touch, his warm breath ghosting over as she reaches down to undo the final few buttons for him.

“They go numb, y’know,” he reveals, “the ends of my fingers, not all the time but - somethin’ shoots down my arm when I try and work through it.” 

Beth pops the next button out, feeling his heavy focus as he studies her face, feeling dizzy with it. Feeling like her own hands might turn numb it’s so _intimate_. Weirdly domestic.

“Takes me ages to get dressed sometimes.” He huffs out a soft laugh, trying to ease the tension.

“Just in your left hand?” she stutters.

“Yeah. Good thing I’m a righty, huh?” it sounds innocent enough, but the way he drags it out, the extra roughness he adds to his voice when he says it, conjures up all sorts of images in her head.

Beth pops the final button but doesn’t take her grip away from the bottom tips of his shirt, pinching the soft fabric before lifting her head in question.

_Is this okay?_

Rio nods once, giving her the permission to run her hands up the hard lines of his chest underneath the open shirt. The soft skin, the split second where she brushes over a scar, the way his lean muscles contract under the path her hands make, him looming over her and letting her do this. It all makes her feel pleasingly unclear as her hands find the strong crest of his shoulders.

She meets his eyes and there’s no mistaking the heat there, mirroring her own, burning in to her like black coal in a furnace as she rocks on to her tiptoes to push the shirt back and down, scooting close enough their chests crush up against each other. His mouth falling open softly just out of reach of her own as she pulls the sleeves down his arms.

She gently tugs the cuffs off both hands, can feel when he strokes her wrist gently as she does so, brushing his fingertips against her pulse point in a silent _thank you_ before she drops it to the floor beside them.

Her eyes skirt over the canvas of his bare torso, the honeyed sunlight filtering through the curtains making him look soft and good. The gentle rise and fall of his belly drawing her eyes down to the easy lines of firm muscle, the hard V-shape that threads down his hipbones, dipping in to his waistband like bait. Even the scars seem less daunting, less shocking for her to see.

He’s just beautiful. Like he always was.

“What’s next?” she breathes unsteadily in to the space between them. Flustered by how unbalanced she is, lost in the closeness of him.

When she looks up his eyes are fixated on her mouth, long eyelashes fluttering slowly as he blinks, heavy, captivated, equally adrift in her nearness.

He lifts his left hand in between them in offering, “She usually massages my hand, warms it up, y’know. Then goes up my arm wit’ it, right to my shoulder, loosens up the muscle.”

Beth blanks for a moment, recalibrating. Everything after he said the word _massage_ got a bit blurred together but she thinks she got the gist.

“Right. Okay. That makes sense.” She affirms to herself, nodding sharply as she takes his large hand into her small palms.

She begins circling her thumbs over the back of his hand, kneading the muscle between his thumb and index finger gently, aware of his gaze on her face while she works. She carefully drags down the line of tendons, marvelling at the veins that swell beneath the surface, travelling down to his wrist in deep blue ribbons.

Flipping his hand over, she repeats her ministrations, rubbing firmer over the joints, working up to the knuckles. She tries to massage down, ease out the tension in his fingers but his thick black ring just crunches against his skin in a way that can’t feel nice.

“Can you -?”

 _Take the ring off_ she was going to say, but Rio’s already read her thoughts, lifting his hand up to his face, eyes on hers, taking his finger in to his mouth right to the joint, sucking the tight ring up and off slowly with a wet pop so it’s between his teeth, his plump lips parting so he can take it out of his mouth, licking his lips as he puts the ring in his back pocket.

_Well, okay then._

He half-heartedly wipes his hand on his jeans and offers it back with a smug grin, Beth glaring at him as she takes it.

She massages lightly down his fingers, warming them up, getting the blood flowing, before deciding to move on to his forearm.

When she moves to do so, he shuffles in closer and pulls his arm away, lifting it to rest the joint of his wrist on her shoulder instead so his arm is almost straight between them, just by her face, giving her easier access.

She grips on to his forearm, circling her tiny hands around it, the corded muscle like ropes pulled to tension beneath the skin, noticing how the tendons jump beneath her touch like the strings of her old violin.

And it’s _too quiet_. His breath fanning down her neck. His bare chest radiating heat against her. His supple arm in her hands, the way his body sways _almost_ imperceptibly with every gentle squeeze and release she makes.

And then she can feel his right hand fiddling softly with the hem of her sweater at her hip and she needs to say _something –_

“When did you start going? To your OT?” her fingers move up to the thick muscle of his bicep, and he shuffles _closer_ again, resting his elbow on her shoulder now. Chest to chest, the fresh scent of his skin all around her, her body curved in under his arm like a secret.

She finds herself following the lines of his bar tattoos with her fingers as he answers, “Just over two months ago. Thought everythin’ was gonna heal alright eventually, and it will, just -” he stops himself, the muscle in his bicep going tighter under her hands, “just there’s something I ain’t got time to wait for anymore. That I wanna get back to.”

Beth looks up but his face is turned away, gaze toward the French doors in deep thought.

“What is it?” she inquires, and he twists his eyes back to hers, “The thing you wanna get back to, that made you start going?”

He considers her a moment, something sombre in his eyes like he’s said too much. “S’nothin, darlin’. How we doin’ up there?”

He juts his chin to where her hands have come to the very top of his arm, her palm flat against the tiger tattoo on the meaty part of his shoulder, her other hand resting right on his scar without her even realising.

She flusters, moving both hands higher, finishing off the last bits of her novice massage. “Good.” She confirms brightly, working her thumbs harder in to tight spot near the dip of his clavicle. “I mean, does it feel better to you?”

“Sure.” He smiles warmly.

“Great.” Her hands give one last squeeze, “What’s next?”

“You can help me roll my shoulder out, but don’t let me drop it down.”

“Okay” Beth’s hands hover in the air a moment, unsure where he needs her.

“Here,” Rio lifts his left arm up slowly until his elbow is parallel with his shoulder, bending his forearm down so his fingertips land on his neck. His face tightens a little with the motion but he reaches out to take hold of her right hand, “place this hand under here, like that,” sliding her palm under his tricep like a support, the tension falling away as she does so. “Then put your left hand here.” He taps the spot by his collarbone at the top of his shoulder, just above the scar. “Helps keep me in the right position.”

Beth places her hands where instructed, the deep thrum of his heart, strong and _alive_ , pulsing from his skin to hers helps settle her breathing.

“Good,” he purrs, “Now push my arm up and around in a slow circle from the shoulder.”

Beth nods, lifting his tricep higher slowly, keeping an eye on the way he bites the inside of his cheek, the soft grunt he makes when his elbow almost points up toward the ceiling, his right hand jerking up to squeeze at her waist, pulling her in closer for something to concentrate on, before she rotates the joint out and round to repeat the action.

“How was that?” she queries, hoping she’s got the mechanics right at least.

“Mmmhmm.” is all he hums back at her, but she can see the sprinkle of amusement in the tight pull of his lips.

“Well?”

“What?”

“Just be honest.” she pushes.

“Aight. Feels worse than before.”

She frowns, concerned, but he’s laughing before she can feel really offended.

“Nah, I’m just playin’. Keep going.”

Beth glares at him, before taking him through another roll, slower this time, edging him a little higher, right to the point where his face scrunches and she can feel resistance against her hand, before slowly rotating it out and around again.

When he’s completed another turn, she softly strokes her left hand up and round his shoulder in an almost comforting caress, trying to rid him of the unease apparent on his face.

“How does that feel?” she whispers.

“Feels real good, mama.”

And there’s nothing playful about it anymore, the molten look in his eye as her hand continues to stroke him gently.

Keeping her gaze fixed to her, he reaches up to remove her hands from him, dropping his left arm back down so they’re no longer touching.

“Get behind me.” his voice husky as he tilts his head to the side, gesturing for her do so.

“What? W-why?” she stammers.

He just lifts an eyebrow lazily and Beth swallows hard as she moves to stand right behind him, coming face to face with the sharp lines of his shoulder blades, the welcoming slope of his back, solid and smooth. Her brain offering up images of how she’d once pawed at it desperately as he moved above her, inside her, sunk her nails in just to hear him grunt from the sharp pleasure of it.

But none of those marks remain.

“I’m gonna lift my arm straight across my chest, need you to hold it up from where you are, pull it in tighter to me. Don’t let me drop it, cool?”

“Yeah. Yeah okay.”

Beth slides in so she’s right up against his back, her lips dangerously close to his skin, breasts pressed up against his spine, and reaches up under his arms. When he gets his left arm across, she catches his forearm and keeps it level, pulling in towards his chest firmly. Her left hand coming up to hold under his right shoulder joint for further support.

“Like this?” she breathes against the back of his neck, feeling him tremble.

“Yeah, you got it.” He rasps in response.

They stay like that until she can feel him holding his breath in discomfort, struggling to not push against her hold and drop his arm down.

Before she even realises she’s doing it, she leans in the last inch to place a gentle kiss to the hot skin of his back, feeling the way his whole body unwinds as she does so, the breath he was holding shivering past his lips.

He doesn’t tell her to let go, but she can feel it in him, releasing her grip on his arm slowly, letting it fall back down to hang at his side.

She doesn’t let _him_ go. Her hands coming to settle on either side of his ribcage, tracing the lines of wiry muscle that run down the bone with feather light strokes, eliciting a soft moan from his lips that she can feel echo around his chest under hands.

Her forehead tilts forward, lightly resting against his back. Taking a moment to cling to him without an audience, not even him. And he just lets her.

“Y’know, they’d for sure make me pay extra for this kinda treatment.”

Beth laughs in to the valley of his shoulder blades, and she can’t see him but she knows he’s smiling too.

“I’ll be sure to bill you next time.” She murmurs, lips brushing his skin as she speaks.

He chuckles warmly, “Aight, deal.” before going quiet again, rocking back in to her embrace, savouring the tenderness of her touch.

She can feel the shift in the air when it happens. Feels it build as the silence stretches and becomes _more._ Feels her own heartbeat thudding against his back, knows that _he can feel it_ _too._

Then he’s slipping out of her grip and Beth freezes as he turns, whipping his chin round to seek her out, shifting his weight hypnotically side to side as he comes to face her again.

He takes a step forward and she stumbles back. Another, another, crowding her up against the cupboard, pressing her into it gently as his chest meets hers and all she can do is stare up at him, her blue eyes jumping over his face.

“What’s next?” he purrs, echoing her, and he’s so close to her face, _so close_ she struggles to think straight.

“I don’t know.” she whispers back uncertain, chest heaving against him.

“Yeah you do, ma.”

Beth can feel herself shaking, each breath a rupture of need through her body as he cranes his neck in closer, his forehead brushing against hers, that bottom lip of his hanging heavy and the desire to close the gap and kiss him is unbearable in her gut.

She does know.

The _actual_ urgent thing they’ve been teetering on the edge of for weeks, _months_ now, unwilling to surrender to.

How much they just _want_ one another, in spite of it all.

Rio’s open mouth hovers over hers, touching so lightly, waiting for her to meet him, to take the leap.

Beth leans in just enough to capture his bottom lip between her own, kissing him softly, tentatively, and it feels _so_ like their first kiss something cracks open in her heart.

And it ignites within her, a thing she had tried to hide from.

Sparks taking flight. His obsidian to her steel. Deep and unknowable. Something vital but with no name.

They’re both still for a second, suspended, and then Rio pushes closer in to her, kissing her deeply, hungrily, his hands coming up to her sides as he drives her back in to the cupboard.

Her hands rise up between them to find his face, running her fingers down the soft stubble on his jaw as they kiss, his tongue sliding over hers, biting at her lips, swallowing her soft moans, stealing all her breath with his slow intensity.

He breaks away to kiss along her jaw, sucking at the tender spot below her ear and she drags her hands down his chest all the way to the edge of his jeans, lower still to stroke over the hard line of him, trembling as he chokes _Elizabeth_ in to the hollow of her throat in response.

She’s quick then, reaching for his button and undoing it. Rio pulling back, toeing off his shoes, placing his hands flat against the cupboard either side of her, caging her in. His forehead presses into hers, his chest heaving as his hot breaths wash over her, as he watches her undo his jeans, watches her unzip, watches her slip her hands in and bend her knees so she can pull them down and off so he’s just in his boxers, before surging back up to be met by his desperate kisses.

She reaches for the button of her own jeans, fumbling a bit under Rio’s dizzying kisses, shimmying them down her thighs until they fall to her ankles and she can kick them off.

When she pulls her sweater up and over her head, Rio pauses. Pupils blown with lust as he rakes his gaze down her body in reverence, his fingers stroking up the soft banks of her waist, coming to settle over the thin lace of her lilac bra, tracing the pattern in the stitching over her hard nipple in a maddening way that makes her keen, yanking his pelvis in tight, both moaning at the feel of his erection rubbing up against her wet panties.

He places his thumb on her bottom lip, dragging it down a little, watching how it quivers under his touch. His black eyes find hers, and she sees it, just for a second, that flicker of something painful as he studies her, disappearing instantly as his lips tug up, devilish.

“You missed this, huh?” his husky voice spilling in to every part of her, “You missed _me?_ ”

He grinds his hips against her and her eyes roll back in her head.

“Yes,” she hears herself whisper, “Yes, I missed you.”

He smiles and makes a satisfied sound that makes her regret saying it until he hooks his right hand in the elastic line of her panties, tearing them sideways and down her legs so she’s just in her bra, stroking his hand up the inside of her thigh until his fingers ghost over her slick folds, grazing her clit with his thumb, making a deep sound of pleasure in the back of his throat at how wet she is, as he teases her, watching her gasp under his touch.

“Missed you too, darlin’.” He purrs against her lips and she has to kiss him again before she does something stupid like cry.

He lifts her thigh up around his hips with his left hand then, sliding his fingers up her leg and pulling her up into him, opening her legs so he can slot against her even tighter.

But she can feel it - in his grip -

She remembers vividly how it felt when he’d lifted her leg in that bar bathroom, bending her knee up almost to the point of pain, his hand sure and strong, kneading at her thigh. The purple watercolour bruises he had left from the pressure of his urgent fingertips. Dappled marks like blooming flowers so sensitive she could feel his touch for days after.

Everything about the way he held her had been brimming with coiled strength and confidence. Knowing how his body moved and using every languid shift to drive her crazy.

So she can feel straight away that this is different.

Can feel how his left hand is hesitant on her, and she worries for a second if he’s hurting. If he’s pushing through an ache in his arm, if she should stop, pull her leg out of his hold, but he does it for her, dropping her down so he can turn their bodies, walking her over to the bed.

She drops back on to the mattress with his right arm curved around her waist for support, lowering her down, his left hand coming out on instinct to steady himself as he hovers over her and she can see in the way his jaw flexes that it aches.

He sinks down to kiss her again, his body flush against her own so she can feel when he starts canting to the side, loading his weight in to his right forearm.

She breaks the kiss and pushes her fingers into his sides, nudging him to roll on to his back, but he refuses to go, staring at her confused like she’s prodding him for the hell of it.

She nudges him again, more insistent, lifting her hips up against him for leverage. But he still only barely rocks to his side, bringing his hand down to her hipbone to steady her.

“What’re you doin’, Elizabeth?” he whispers roughly, biting back a curious smile.

Beth lifts her head, enough so that her lips can connect to the scar on his shoulder, the deep wound, healed but still causing him pain, limiting his normally strong and precise movements. She closes her eyes as she kisses him there, soft but full of purpose, hoping he understands that she can feel the strain traveling down his arm. That she wants to take it away.

That she wants him to lie back and let her.

When she looks back at him, his expression is so unguarded; his gaze so sincere in its warmth she has to look away.

But when she nudges him again, he goes without resistance, rolling to the side and on to his back, Beth following until she’s stretched out above him.

She looks down in to his eyes for a moment, feels when he brushes a wayward curl away from her face, hooking it behind her ear, running his finger under her chin to pull her down in to another kiss.

Beth relaxes against him, taking control as she kisses down his jaw, licks down his neck, sucks on the wing of the eagle, relishing the way he tugs on her hair, his relaxed moans echoing in the room.

She kisses down further, over his chest, biting at his hips so he jerks under her, before sitting up so she can pull his boxers over his legs, sucking her lower lip in to her mouth when his cock springs free, mewling a little at the throbbing between her thighs, crawling back up his body to settle in his lap.

They lock eyes and it’s overwhelming, the adoration in his look. The awe. The lust searing over every inch of her. Making her feel beautiful and wanted. Giving her the confidence to straighten up, pull her shoulders back, and reach behind her, holding his gaze as she undoes her bra, slowly sliding the lilac straps down her arms before tossing it aside.

Rio’s eyes look almost drunk as he watches her, licking his lips, staring at the trembling movement of her heavy breasts as her chest heaves, running his hands over her thighs, jaw falling slack like he can’t believe she’s real.

He squeezes her hips forward then, unable to wait any longer, and Beth strokes her hands down to take his cock in her hand, lifting up on her knees so she can line him up with her aching center and slide on to him, eyes locked on his as he pushes in to her, both choking on their words as she slowly, _slowly_ sinks down, guttural moans and _fuck_ and _yes, baby_ ringing in her ears as he stretches her.

His hands slide up to the top of her legs, palming at her skin. He hooks his thumbs in the crease where her hips meet her thighs, pulling her so she rolls against him, causing him to shift inside her, and Rio curses as she clenches around him, so impossibly deep her vision feels blurred.

She starts rocking slowly, lifting up and down, savouring every second, circling her hips as she watches the flickers of delicious ecstasy cross his face.

“How does that feel?” she cries out.

Rio’s eyes screw shut as he struggles for words. “Real good, mama – _shit -”_

Her spine bends, arching as her pelvis rolls, tide-like, in and out, a torturous ebb and flow as pleasure floods her body. His hands come to the small of her back, supporting her. The sound and stick of their skin hanging in the air as she becomes untethered from everything that isn’t _him_.

He pulls on her tighter, _tighter,_ her hips rolling faster, riding him, and she glances down to see the way he slides in and out of her, throbbing at the sight of him inside her and when she looks up he’s watching too, watching himself disappear in to her pulsing cunt and it spikes something so intense in her, something so possessive that she didn’t even know she felt.

 _Mine, mine, mine_ echoing through her thoughts, her hips snapping against him, chasing the release as she can feel herself nearing the edge.

Then his fingers stroke over her stomach, dropping down to circle her clit and that’s all it takes for her to shatter, every inch of her skin ablaze, her hips stuttering as she screams out, gasping wordless things that sound like his name.

She clenches around him and she can hear him growl, baring his teeth, grunting a harsh _fuck_ as he comes too, spilling inside of her, his back arching of the bed as his whole body goes rigid beneath her.

And the pleasure shared is so sharp between them that for a moment they both forget what pain is.

Beth opens her eyes to look down at him. He’s almost too beautiful to bear like this, too caught in the freefall of her body. And she thinks, judging by the way his eyes reach out to her, drinking in every ounce of glory as she shudders and whines above him, that he might be thinking the same thing.

Beth collapses forward onto his chest, panting in to his throat, peppering him with lazy kisses as he strokes up and down her spine soothingly.

He groans softly when she rolls off him, slipping out of her, and she wriggles close in to his side, her head on his right bicep. They’re still for a moment, and Beth zeroes in on the sound of his breathing, the way it starts to level out, something so calming in its peacefulness.

“Damn, ma.” Rio sighs next to her, content.

Beth rolls her head to look at him, “What?”

“Think I might need to book you in for a few more sessions.” He teases, “Y’know, I actually got this thing in my leg -” she whacks him in the stomach and he chuckles roughly.

“Shut up.” She shakes her head, disapproving, but she’s laughing too.

“Worth a try.” He huffs, “Like you better anyway.” He strokes his fingers down the side of her arm as he looks up at the ceiling, little goose bumps following their path.

Beth shuffles to drag the bed sheet up over them, rolling her eyes as Rio hums in protest at her body being hidden from view.

Curled into his side, she dances her fingers over his sternum as she speaks, “You didn’t say – before – the thing that made you want to start going?”

He immediately tenses beneath her touch, turning his face away from her to look out the windows.

“Don’t matter.” he shrugs, pushing up and away from her so his back is straighter, sitting up against the headboard.

Beth tracks his movements, pushing up herself so she’s sitting next to him, clutching the sheet tighter around her chest.

“Hey,” she reaches for his wrist, rubbing her thumb over his hand in a way that brings his focus back to her.

“Elizabeth -” he starts softly, trying to dissuade her from her curiosity.

“It’s okay.” She smiles reassuringly, a pinch of concern in her brow. “You can tell me.”

Rio’s dark eyes take in every part of her, looking for something, waiting for something, and that odd flicker of pain passes over his face as he struggles with his next words.

“I wanna play with my son again.”

The words fall heavy between them and Beth’s heart aches as she pictures Rio telling Marcus _no,_ unable to explain why _,_ feeling like he’s letting him down every time he can’t play with him how he used to. The image, from so long ago, of him at the park hauling Marcus up onto his shoulder sinking in her mind.

“Oh,” she whispers, unsure what to say.

“It ain’t just that,” he sighs, “got other things I been tryna figure out. Tryna get over, stuff the sessions ain’t been helping me with.”

“What other things?” Beth can feel the lump in her throat, anxious for his words.

Rio chews on his lip, averting his gaze, “When I go to pick Marcus up, sometimes I can lift him on my right side, but not for long, somethin’s off and I can’t - when he asks to sit on my shoulders and I have to tell him no cause I can feel somethin’ sharp in my chest and can’t keep him up without it feelin’ just – _wrong._ I get it. I know why those things are happenin’. When I move too fast, when my hand goes numb, I get it, but –” Rio stops, turning his chin to her.

“– but sometimes, when I look at you, when I touch you, I feel it. Feel it like it's happenin’ all over again.”

“Feel what?”

“The way it burned. Pain, like – like my skin’s too tight.” He looks her in the eye, anguish clouding every feature, his voice thick with it. “All my scars start to hurt when I touch you. Like they ain’t healed right. Like my bodies tellin’ me to stop.”

Beth can feel her eyes welling up, picturing all the times he’s looked at her in a way she couldn’t fathom before, but now understands. Something in his soul, in his skin, that she doesn’t know how to cure.

“I ignore it.” He tries to reassure her, “But sometimes – just sometimes – it’s there.”

“You think that’ll ever go away?” she asks quietly, afraid she already knows the answer.

“Whatd’ya want me to say?” He wants to protect her from it, she can see, but he doesn’t know how to do that and be honest.

She trembles, eyes pleading, begging her tears not to fall.

“Lie to me.”

Rio’s lips tug up, a concerned grin as he looks down at her hand cradling his, “Sure, ma. It’ll go away.”

Beth sighs, smiling at him through her sadness, feeling helpless suddenly. Because what if they should stop? What if it is _wrong_ – after everything they’ve done – what if they can’t be fixed? What if the bad outweighs the good in a way they can’t overcome?

Rio’s phone vibrates from his jeans crumpled up on the floor, breaking them both out of their reverie.

He rubs his hand down his jaw like he already knows what it is and is already tired from it, “I gotta go, darlin’.” squeezing her arm gently in apology, and she nods like it’s fine. Like _she’s_ fine.

His eyebrows furrow as he looks at her and she can see the struggle in him, how much he wants to stay, wants to pull her in and make her laugh, wants to touch her and kiss her and _make love to her_ again – because that’s what it was, how it felt when he touched her, when he moved inside her.

Rio moves to climb out of the bed and Beth just watches silently. Watches as he retrieves his boxers and jeans, saying some words about the back room of Boland Bubbles and asking about where she’s been looking for a new press as he pulls them on, sitting down to toe on his trainers.

She replies cheerfully enough, filling in the appropriate spaces, until he picks his shirt up from the floor, slides it over his arms, and starts doing up the buttons.

He gets half-way before he’s flexing his hand uncomfortably, lifting his face up to meet hers, his black eyes so wide and vulnerable, shining as the afternoon sun glances down the side of his face, asking her for help.

He wordlessly comes to stand at the edge of the bed, Beth rising to kneel in front of him, reaching out for either side of the shirt, slowly threading the buttons closed all the way up to his throat, the way he likes it, feeling his eyes focused in on her as she lightly strokes down the wings of his tattoo when she’s done.

He lifts his right hand to cup her face, stroking over the pink of her cheeks, the faint dusting of freckles, like she’s something precious to him, but all Beth can think in the back of her mind is _does it hurt?_

He leans in to place a chaste kiss to her swollen lips, delicate and heartfelt, enough to make her chase his mouth in a daze when he leans away.

_Does it hurt? Does it hurt? Does it hurt?_

He gives her one last smile and a promise to see her soon and an affectionate squeeze at her waist, rumpling the bed sheet where it hangs down her body, before turning to leave through the French doors.

And then he’s gone.

And Beth lets her tears fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *finger guns* promise there's happiness and shower locker room fun to come!


	3. A Way That Matters

“So - all this new shit, but you couldn’t part ways with the kid’s paddlin’ pool, huh?”

Rio lightly kicks the inflatable ring propped up in the far corner of the room, amused that it’s one of the few things she hadn’t upgraded in the transfer from Paper Porcupine to Boland Bubbles.

“Well it’s a vital part of the process. And – and it does the job so -” Beth bristles, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

_Of course he would zero in on that._

He’d asked to see the progress with the back room after their meeting tonight, eyebrows raised in challenge like he didn’t think she’d actually done much with it since she brought it up in her room the other week.

There had been something else in his eye, something lewd telling her he was picturing the other things they had done that day. Something tender, too. A new kind of honesty in their way with each other after that vulnerable afternoon in her bedroom.

Still, she didn’t try to hide her smug smile when he’d walked in and seen an almost fully decked out printing space.

“Aight, you do you.” He chuckles, swinging his chin back round to her, eyes sparkling like she’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen, before his gaze falls down to the keyhole opening in her sweater for the hundredth time this evening. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment, then turns away to saunter along the back wall, running his right hand over the brand new steel shelving unit, squeezing a dark green resistance ball in his left.

In the three weeks since that missed therapy session, since she’d offered to help him, since they’d – since he’d revealed what he’s really been struggling with, that it wasn’t all physical, he’d dropped the pretence around her. Sometimes absentmindedly taking the green exercise ball in to his hand during a conversation, rolling and pressing it in his palm to help with his grip strength and dexterity.

It might seem small, but she could tell it was something he was letting _her_ see and not others. Letting her be a part of it once he realised she wasn’t repulsed by the lasting reminders of their violent past, that she just wanted to be there for him now.

But it was the emotional ache, the hidden strain he had no control over, that she hadn’t counted on.

She hasn’t cried since that day in her room. She’d let herself sit and wallow in it, before drying her tears and trying to rationalise what she knew to be true. It bothered him, that was clear, but it wasn’t clouding his every thought, it wasn’t stopping him from acting on how he feels towards her. It didn’t dim that sparkle in his eyes. He smiled when he saw her. He smiled a lot more since that day actually. He wanted to touch her. Be near her. If it was a constant thing, surely he would avoid that? But he flirted and teased and kissed and laughed with her. That was what _mattered._

She tucked away his words, trying to convince herself she could forget it. Get over the nagging thought. The constant knowledge that he has to fight back a pain in his chest that emerges when he looks at her, when he touches her. A phantom echo in his mind that won’t let him move on.

 _Sometimes_ , she reminds herself. He said _sometimes._

How often was sometimes? Every five minutes? Every time he sees her? Did something particular spark it? Could she do something to make it go away? _Stop_ doing something?

_I ignore it._

But she didn’t want him to ignore it. She didn’t want to think about him pushing through pain even if he didn’t want to feel that way, even if it was because his need for her was stronger than any of it.

And now _she_ couldn’t ignore it. They would be their normal selves, bickering, teasing, kissing, and suddenly, unbidden, the question would float to the top of her mind -

_Does it hurt?_

“Any word on a new press?” he interrupts her thoughts, jolting her back to here and now, “Cause, hate to break it to you, but fancy shelves and a new blender don’t count for much if you can’t print in here, darlin’.”

He pockets the resistance ball in his jacket so he can properly wave both hands towards the empty space on her left that had been mocking her for days now.

“Shockingly, as the one who actually does the printing, I am aware of that.”

“Well that’s a relief.”

“I’m handling it, okay.” She assures him brightly.

“Doesn’t really answer my question though, now does it?” he mumbles, attention down on the work bench, smoothing his beanie down the crown of his head before fiddling with the unused pulp trays and scrapers.

“It’s not exactly a regular purchase. I need to get the right model, right price, they’re not cheap -”

“You got an ETA?”

“Well, not exactly but -”

“You know you can just say you ain’t got jack, right?” he lifts his gaze to her, amusement dancing across his face as he takes her in, before leaning down against the bench to rest his chin in his hand, fingers curled just under his lips.

Beth sucks in a breath, trying to bite back the smile she can feel forming as he looks at her, eyes curiously wide. She lifts her face to the ceiling and shrugs, “Fine. I don’t have one and I haven’t found one yet. But I will.” Her hands tug on the bottom hem of her sweater, enough that the keyhole opening stretches, sliding further down her cleavage.

_And there goes his eyeline again._

She lifts her chin. “Satisfied?”

Rio hums, low and gravelly as he drags his eyes back up. Something devilish in his intent.

“Oh, I could be.”

Her mouth goes dry as she blinks a little too fast, picturing herself sitting on top of the work bench, pulling him between her legs, his hands all over her body, his mouth on her neck, his stubble tickling as he lacquers her skin with hot kisses -

_Does it hurt?_

She clears her throat, shaking the thought from her head. “Like I said, I’m handling it. You don’t need to worry.”

Rio nods, exaggerated in its slowness, gaze flickering back to the empty space where the press should be, something sparking in his eyes for the briefest moment, before it’s gone and he pushes up to standing. “Fair enough. Just do your thing, yeah?”

“Always.” She smiles sweetly, watching as he turns his back on her, drifting over to the mounted coat rack next to the back door.

It has three aprons on it. Replacing the old, paint-stained ones they had used in Paper Porcupine. He goes straight for hers, able to single out her taste, the one with little pink peonies on the ties and front pocket.

He lifts his right hand, taking the thick cotton in between the pads of his fingers, rubbing his thumb over the printed pattern.

Beth takes a few steps closer, pulled in by the jarring image of him appraising her floral apron.

“You know, if you want your own, you just have to ask.” She teases.

Rio laughs, a gruff chuckle as she comes to stand close to his side. “Nah. Not really my colour, ma.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“Yeah? You ever seen me in baby blue?”

She scoffs, wants to say that she saw shirts this shade in his closet once, that she’s thought about what it would be like to see him in one, that he looked unbearably good wrapped in the blue of her bed sheets, but she gets distracted by the movement of his hand.

He’s slowly running his index and middle finger down the creased pleats formed at the waistband of her cornflower blue apron hanging high on its hook. Something about it so weirdly evocative of how those same fingers had slipped down her stomach and between her legs that she presses her thighs together at the sight, easing the sudden tension coiled low in her belly.

They hadn’t had sex again since that time in her room. They’d seen each other plenty; sometimes she would even take his left hand in her own, kneading the muscle when she noticed him flexing it in discomfort. She would place her palm on his shoulder, right over the scar, and ask him how he was doing. He was constantly touching her, and most times he would pull her in to a passionate kiss before he left.

Always intense. Always dizzying. The desire for more evident in the swipe of his tongue, the tight grip on her neck, the primal sounds in the back of his throat, the sharp press of his hips.

And she craved him just as fiercely, but he would always ease off, gently pulling back, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure what she wanted from him now. Tentative in the way he watched her face.

She had waited for him to leave before she cried that day, but he had seen it in her before he left, it was obvious. How she had retreated within herself. And now he was waiting for her to come back to him. To seek him out. To choose him, them, as they are _now_.

But she couldn’t shake it. The worry that being around her might make it _worse_.

It was psychological. Something he couldn’t control. Something only he could face and fix. And until that ghost of pain was gone, until he was able to look inside himself and unlock the remedy, it was going to haunt them.

And the thought that he might not be able to do that worried her more than she could admit.

“Elizabeth?” he’s looking over his shoulder, watching her carefully, like he can read all her worries on her face.

“What?”

“Can hear you thinkin’. You good?”

“I’m great, just – just been a long day that’s all.”

He stares at her a second longer, mouth open in a relaxed pout as he takes her in, before turning sharply away. Then, so quickly she double-takes, reaches his arm up high, easy and assured, grabbing the neck strap of her apron and slipping it off its hook.

His _left_ arm.

But – he – _how?_

How did he move it like that? The hook was high enough that his elbow passed his shoulder with the movement, and he did it fast, natural, like she hadn’t once seen him grimace with the ache caused by catching a pair of keys in the same manner. Like she hadn’t held his arm in her cautious hands and watched him struggle to lift it to the angle he just had.

But he wasn’t biting back pain. He wasn’t rolling out his shoulder like he wished he hadn’t moved like that. He wasn’t gritting his teeth together. He was – _smiling again?_

Beth’s mouth opens but no words come out, she’s sure she’s gaping at him when he turns to face her but he brushes of the confused pinch in her brow instantly, like the small but meaningful thing he had just done wasn’t worth mentioning.

“You wear this to make the funny money right?”

Rio gestures towards her with the apron in his hands and Beth just nods a little lamely.

“Um – yes. But – how did - ?”

Before she can finish, Rio steps forward so they’re almost chest to chest, lifts the strap up and around her head and guides it down past her face, until it settles on her neck, the apron hanging loose down her body.

“What’re you doing?” she squeaks, feeling unsteady with his nearness, with the taunt of his silver chain against his sternum where the top of his shirt sits open, with his big hands resting on her shoulders, gently pulling the ends of her hair out from under the strap and smoothing it as it falls free.

“Getting the full visual.” He mumbles, a scheming tilt to his lips as he runs his fingers down the edges of the apron.

Beth rolls her eyes as he picks up the two waist ties dangling down to brush the floor, lifting them and shuffling in even closer to reach under her arms, joining his hands behind her back like an embrace, keeping his eyes on hers, dark and heavy-lidded as he watches her breath hitch. Switching the straps in to the opposite hand and then pulling them back under her arms so the bow can be tied on her front.

He doesn’t tie it straight away though. He drops his gaze to the way the apron now clings to her body, running his thumbs slowly down each taut strap in his hands, pulling her in to him with the gentle pressure.

“Mmmmm” he hums, vibrating in his chest enough that she can feel it against her own.

“What?” she whispers.

“Just picturing it.”

Rio’s eyes go black, his bottom lip hanging heavy before he sucks it back in to his mouth, growling again in a way that tells her _exactly_ what he’s picturing.

Beth narrows her eyes playfully. “I wear clothes underneath it.”

“Not in my head you don’t.”

She can feel herself blinking too quickly, her breath faltering as she averts her gaze to the side, “Please.” She scoffs shakily, and he smiles wide, all teeth. She peeks down when she can see his hands moving, watching his deft fingers when he starts to tie the straps in to a bow on her stomach.

When she lifts her chin to look at him, his face is dipped in towards her, their foreheads nearly touching.

And he has that attractive curl to his lips again, strangely peaceful, in a way that reminds her of a bar and a _cheers_ and an _I don’t have it here_ and the simplicity of _before._

“What’s with you today?”

“Whatchu mean?” he rasps, tying the straps over and under and yanking them to tension to cinch in a knot at her waist, just hard enough so she jerks in to him, her hands falling to grip his biceps, steadying herself.

He smirks again like that’s what he intended.

“You’re in a weirdly good mood. And you keep smiling for no reason.”

Rio laughs, shaking his head like she’s missing something obvious, finishing off the bow with a final tug and slipping his hands round to rest on her hips.

“You payin’ real close attention to my face, huh?”

“When it’s right in front of me.” Which it is right now. The midnight of his eyes consuming her. “So,” she clears her throat, dropping her chin, “final verdict?”

Rio scowls at the apron, lifting his right hand to tug at the bib front on her chest like it offends him. “Don’t like this part.”

It’s hiding the keyhole opening on her sweater that he’d been captivated by since he arrived, his face suddenly serious like he made a grave mistake in covering it up, and Beth can’t help smiling at the way his brow furrows.

“Should get one of those half ones,” he hums, “just this bit -” running his hands to the bottom part, below the waistband.

Beth blinks up at him sweetly, “There would still be clothes underneath it, half apron or not.”

“Aw, you’re no fun, mami.” He drawls against her lips before he closes the gap and kisses her softly.

When he leans back, the question slips from her mouth, her eyes fluttering open.

“How did you do that?” She stutters.

“Oh, it’s real simple, see, I put my lips on yours and then -”

“ _No,_ not that, you – you took it down with your left arm – and it didn’t look like it hurt.”

Rio nods like he was waiting for that, shrugging casually in response, “It’s been getting better.”

“Really?” she grins, hesitant, “Your sessions have been helping?”

Rio locks eyes with her, trying to tell her something wordlessly that she doesn’t catch. He pinches the ends of her hair, spiraling a golden curl around his finger.

“Somethin’ like that.” He purrs, distracted by the way her hair catches the light.

But she’s fixed on his face, the way his smile falters for a split second, a flicker of something in his eyes that she can’t name making her freeze.

Beth pulls away, flinching back like she’s been doused with cold water, far enough that there’s space between their bodies, her arms sliding down until they’re holding on to each other’s forearms.

“What was that?”

Rio just looks at her, confused, hands trying to keep her close, mouth hanging open in a questioning pout.

“That look on your face – what was it?” She pushes, and she can see when he registers the concern in her tone. The distress. Most of all – the paranoia.

She can hear it herself. Hates it. Hates how she can’t help but obsess over every expression, searching for signs of something signalling pain she never wants to see.

_Does it hurt?_

He softens immediately, but his jaw still rocks, frustrated at himself for having shared this, for being honest about _everything_ he was dealing with.

Does she regret asking? Should she have let him brush her off that day?

No. She wanted the truth from him – even if it hurt. Especially then.

“It was nothin’.” He assures her, pulling her gently back in to the cradle of his arms like she’s suddenly fragile, like one wrong move might spook her, softly enough that she could shake him off if she wanted to. She sways forward, hands falling to his chest.

“You have to tell me,” she mumbles, “I’d rather know - if you -”

“Elizabeth,” Two rough hands come up to cradle her face, nudging her chin up to meet his sincere gaze. “Forreal. It was _nothin’_.” His black eyes wide, emphasising his words, hoping they land.

She blinks hard, letting her breath go in a long exhale. Was she imagining it now? Seeing ghosts that weren’t even there?

“Forget it, I’m just tired.” She sighs, pulling the bow out and unravelling the straps, quickly taking the apron off. “I should be heading home.”

Rio watches her warily, backing away, his fingers twitching restlessly before he shoves them back in his pockets. Gritting his teeth as his face goes blank, eyes unreadable.

“Aight. We good?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re good.”

* * * * *

Beth slumps in her desk chair, lazily poking at the remnants of her late lunch, the human sounds of the showroom on a Tuesday afternoon humming pleasantly just outside.

She was fine when she was busy. Moving. Occupied. It’s just when she’s quiet, when she’s still – like she is now – that she fixes on the way she had left things with Rio at the weekend.

The confusing tangle of emotions between them. Knots so thoroughly unpicked only to reform in new, frustrating patterns.

His face before he left. Unspoken words on his lips, something he didn’t know how to say or wasn’t ready to yet. The way he didn’t touch her again, the tight smile that didn’t touch his eyes, the strange sense of loss as he brushed past her shoulder and wordlessly walked away, taking his warmth with him.

And it was so _annoying_. Because how did he want her to react? What did he expect? That she could just know what she now knows and get over it?

He said it was getting better, but was that just physically or – or the _other thing_ too?

It would all be so much simpler if he just used his words instead of cryptic gazes and loaded silence - and a shrug if she was really lucky.

And how could it be getting better? He was around her all the time recently. Drastically changing from the extended periods of avoidance to finding any excuse to pop by. How could that possibly be helping the situation? She could tell he had grown to enjoy when she tried to re-invent the motions he had walked her through, that he had lost the agitation, the caginess of her seeing that side to him. That they both found something darkly therapeutic in it being _her_ hands on those scars. 

But the other thing. The other thing was unknowable, striking at random, swirling just beneath the surface of his skin. How could she heal something she ignited in him? Why, in spite of it all, did he still come to her, willing to burn?

The sudden banging on her office window is so abrupt and loud that she flails, letting out a tiny shriek as she turns to see Annie’s face, eyes wide as she taps the glass frantically, mouthing something to Beth she can’t make out. After a moment of confusion, Annie fumbles for the door, pushing it open with a dramatic shove.

“Annie what -”

“Listen, no panic, everything’s cool, but I’m gonna need you to come with me _right now_.” Annie’s eyes go even wider, trying to convey something desperate without saying it.

“What’re you talking about? Are you okay?”

“I really need your _assistance_ with some large _tubs_ in the _back room_.” she speaks slowly, and Beth starts to catch up.

Annie had been stationed in the back room for the past hour, intent on lending her efforts to the great printing press search, contacting the next batch of places that could potentially have the night model they were after at a price they could afford.

“We have some……….unexpected visitors.”

Nobody else had access to the back room other than the three of them.

Well. Nobody but Rio.

Beth lurches to her feet, spine rigid.

“Annie, what’s going on?”

“It’s cool, just chill -” she’s interrupted by a loud bang, what sounds like car doors slamming shut, a metallic scraping, a murmur of deep voices from the private alley behind the building, the one that the double-door in the back room led out to.

Annie’s eyes jump around as she listens, before landing back on Beth. “Yeah, you’re gonna wanna see this -” and then she’s scrambling back out the office, holding the door open for Beth to follow. 

Beth fumbles for a second, nearly tripping as she side-steps her chair, suddenly unbalanced in her heels as her heart quickens and she rounds the desk.

She smiles sweetly at the elderly couple milling around the showroom and gives a calm wave to the sales reps who look up, clocking her fast movement, the hurried clicks of her heels drawing their attention before she slips down the corridor that leads to the management only storage space and the unassuming door to the back room.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, she drops the act. “Tell me what’s going on right now.” she hisses.

Annie quickly fishes the keys out of her jean pocket to unlock the door, “You know how I’ve been in here all day chasing dead ends, searching for _exactly_ the right press because _you_ said stealing the one we currently use from Dorothy was _‘too risky’_ and _‘unethical’_ and it’d be _‘no biggie’_ finding our own even though it clearly _is_ a biggie because turns out that exact press is a bitch to get your hands on?”

“Annie, will you get to the poi....” Beth steps through in to the room, words dying on her lips as she takes in the scene, vaguely aware of Annie locking the door behind them.

“The point, sis, is that your boy beat me to it.”

The double-doors are flung open. A cold breeze funnels down the alleyway and rushes in to the room, making the ends of her long navy dress rustle around her calves.

There’s a huge black van parked right in front of it, the back opened up as three or four burly tattooed men she vaguely recognises pull out a loading ramp, metal scraping unpleasantly, grating against the uneven gravel of the alley as they try to get it in line and level.

She struggles to make sense of what she’s seeing, until her eyes register Mick. He’s leaning casually against the wall, growling something in Spanish to one of the men, gesturing with his gloved hand toward the ramp like he’s instructing them.

Beth steps forward, mouth agape, letting her confusion give way to anger cause _what the hell?_

“Hey!” She shouts, Mick turning to finally acknowledge her, and he has the decency to look almost apologetic. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He sighs like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world right now.

“Afternoon, Mrs. B.” he grumbles, but she struts past him through the door, peeking round the side of the open van doors enough so that she can see what she already knows is inside it. 

So that she can see the shiny new printing press Rio had bought for her.

Her mind races. What was he doing? She said she was handling it. Didn’t he trust her? Why wouldn’t he just pass on the information – let her sort it out? This was _her_ thing. Her idea. Did she owe him now? She didn’t want debts between them. She didn’t want this huge reminder that he’d had to step in and help.

“How - why – why did he do this?!” she turns to scowl at Mick, walking back in to the room so she can focus all her frustration on him.

He remains annoyingly calm, keeping an eye on the other men as they finally get the ramp locked in place and disappear in to the van to unload the press. “Boss said you needed it. Thought you’d be pleased.” 

“Well, clearly he got it wrong!”

“Hold up,” Annie shuffles closer, leaning in to her hip as she tries to understand Beth’s stance, “I thought we wanted a press?”

“We do!”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Because,” Beth throws her arms out to the side, struggling to verbalise her conflicting emotions, to reason why she doesn’t want the thing she’s been desperate to find, “because I don’t want it like _this_. This isn’t _his_ problem. We didn’t need his help! Because now we owe him god knows what for it. Because we were handling it!”

Annie doesn’t look totally convinced, but she can see that she really needs her on her side here, nodding a little wearily, coming to stand next to Beth and doing her best impression of intimidating backup. She lifts her chin defiantly, “Right. What she said.” trying to look bigger and harsher than she is. The glittery star clip in her hair undermining her ever so slightly.

Beth can see the amusement in Mick’s eyes as he takes in their united front.

He strokes down his beard, taking his time, “He said you’d be like that, and to tell you he ain’t got no interest in debts. Just wants to get you up and runnin’.”

“Well, maybe _you_ could tell _him_ that the actual printing of the money? That’s not really his department.”

Mick laughs gruffly, turning to face the van again as the other men begin to carefully drag the press on to the ramp. “I’ll be sure to pass that on. Soon as this is unloaded and you ladies are all set up.”

Annie bristles at Beth’s side, “Hey dude, maybe your fun-sized leather jacket is restricting the blood flow to your brain. She said she doesn’t want it.”

“And the boss said it’s hers. So it’s hers.” Mick’s eyes turn serious, enough for Annie to lose some of her steam, nudging closer in to Beth’s side on instinct.

“Is there a reason he couldn’t be here to say this himself?” Beth seethes. Because of course he sent his minions knowing full well she would be pissed.

“I dunno, why don’t you ask him at your next lil date night, yeah?”

“Excuse me?” she flusters, feeling Annie peering up at her now, eyes squinting like she’s missed something juicy.

“You heard me.” he levels Beth with a knowing look, still eerily calm in his demeanour.

There’s a sudden thud, a whining sound of heavy iron testing the strength of the thin steel ramp and Annie uses the interruption to drag Beth aside.

“So - you wanna maybe catch me up? Or am I gonna have to suck up to face tats over there to find out what’s really going on?”

“There’s nothing to know.” Beth shakes her head, but she can tell Annie’s not buying it. She just hasn’t found a time, or a way that doesn’t sound insane, to tell her and Ruby what’s been going on these past few weeks. How can she? She barely understands it herself.

“You’re telling me homeboy gifted you this hugeass press, no strings attached, out of the goodness of his heart? Nuh uh, no way. He’s getting something out of it. So are you gonna spit it out or -?”

Beth chokes on words for a moment, long enough for Annie’s eyes to pop out of her head and her jaw to drop. “I _knew_ it!”

“Will you shut up!” Beth whispers furiously, smacking away the accusatory finger Annie has jabbed dramatically in her direction.

“Oh. My. _God_.”

“That is _not_ what this is about, okay. We’ve just – he’s been – we’ve been - working through some _stuff_.”

“Oh, I bet you have.”

“Okay, _stop_ – that has nothing to do with what’s going on here!”

“Really? Cause the ginormous printer currently being dragged in here is telling me a different story.”

Beth spins, watching the press being hauled through the double-doors.

“Ey, Mrs. B -” Mick bellows, catching her eye. She hadn’t noticed him move to open the passenger side door of the van, slamming it shut behind him now as he strolls back inside. “Boss also said you’d be needing this.”

He’s holding a small matte-black shopping bag in his hand, a slight curl to his lips like he can’t wait to see her reaction, the bag open at the top so he clearly knows what’s inside.

He comes to a stop, offering it towards her. “Don’t shoot the messenger, yeah? Know you got previous.”

Beth scowls, clenching her jaw as she snatches the bag from him. She doesn’t break her stare until he scoffs and moves away to join the men pushing the press in to the corner, cracking his knuckles before adding his muscle to the final effort.

She slowly drags her eyes down to the bag crushed between her fingertips, distantly aware of Annie standing just behind her.

She gingerly opens the edges and peers inside, breath rushing out of her mouth, blood pumping in her ears as she registers what she’s looking at.

The bag drops to the floor as she pulls out a violet coloured half apron, its wide front pocket covered in delicately stitched periwinkle bluebells, unfurling and running her fingers down its thick waist ties, silky like textured ribbon.

And pinned to the waistband, a small card, his terrible handwriting unmistakable as she plucks it off to read.

_Get printing, mama. (Clothes optional)_

She’s so frozen with irritation, cheeks flushed from his stupid note, vibrating with confusion, with how pissed off she is that he swooped in when he wasn’t needed, with how annoyed she is at herself that she really _loves_ this apron that she doesn’t notice Annie peering around her side, running her eyes over the gift and accompanying message.

“What the _hell_ are you guys in to?”

Beth squeaks, rolling the apron up and stooping to shove it and the note back in to the bag.

“Right. That’s it.” She mumbles, strutting over to the shelving unit and dumping the bag there.

“What’s it?” Annie questions as she watches Beth head straight for the door leading back in to Boland Bubbles.

She lurches to a stop. “Can you stay here for me? Keep an eye on – _all this?"_

Annie’s eyebrows shoot up, confused. “Uh, yeah, sure – but why? Where are you going?”

Tuesday. It was Tuesday today.

And a glance at the clock above the door told her it was 3:15pm.

“I have a tennis game to crash.”

* * * * *

She tries to picture Rio in this place, but she just _can’t._

She hops out of her car at Huntington Woods Tennis Club, imposing white brick walls reflecting the sun with pastel green window frames matching the huge umbrellas dotted around, offering shade to an outside cafe spot just off the main entrance. The location and time Rio comes here stored in her memory from that day she had been scouring Fitzpatrick’s list of incidentals.

But she isn’t nervous like she had been at the therapy clinic. No. This time she’s got the fuel of her infuriation coursing through her, the image of Mick and that expensive press that couldn’t _possibly_ come without caveats, without future favours. Future interference. Reminders that she couldn’t get it done.

They were partners on the understanding that she was in control of everything to do with the printing. She just _couldn’t_ accept it. It was too much. And she never wanted to rely on a man for the things she needed ever again.

A painful part of her mind told her that it was too generous, too unbelievable that he would give this to her because he just genuinely wanted to help. When had he ever forgotten a debt?

He always came to collect.

And after how weird things had been left the last time they saw each other? She needed to look him in the eye to know what he was up to.

She hands her keys off to a smiley, eager to please man at the valet to park her car for her, his name – George – embossed in that same pastel green on his crisp white shirt. The club emblem, two tennis rackets crossed under a crown inside a wreath, just below it. As soon as he returns with her ticket she’s off through the main doors following the signs directing towards the tennis courts.

She gets some funny looks when she steps out in to a lounge area, people fully decked out in tennis gear eyeing her long navy button-up maxi dress, her purse slung over her shoulder, teetering in her heels.

She ignores them, scanning the length of the terrace. Beautiful plinths with colourful flowers, cream canopy curtains billowing out across the ceiling, looking out over two empty courts and one with a mother guiding her young daughter through the basics of serving.

Where was he? Was she too late?

She casts her eyes around anxiously until she catches on a figure in the distance. Walking away from a court hidden behind a row of trees, gesturing towards a brunette woman following from the same direction.

_There he is._

It looks like he’s wearing a navy tracksuit, a black sports bag slung across his body. The white of his polo shirt making the dark lines of his neck tattoo stand out even from so far away.

She feels her pulse quicken at the sight, transfixed by this strikingly different version of him, a side he had never let her see.

She watches as he comes to a stop, turning to the woman and shaking her hand before they part ways. The woman continuing down the path towards the lounge as Rio opens a door behind him and disappears inside the main building.

_Shit._

She had intended to catch him during a game, maybe get a glimpse of the thing she had spent far too much time daydreaming about. Rio darting around a court. Agile, competitive, panting…..

But now he was probably heading to –

_He does shower after in an unattended locker room. It’s another opportunity._

Beth’s brain short-circuits for a moment as different images flood her mind, and she suddenly finds herself speed-walking in the direction of the door he had gone through.

When she’s inside, she’s met by a row of changing room doors on her left, benches with wire mesh cubbies attached for bags and clothes running along the wall on her right.

But no Rio.

The space opens out at the back of the room with a row of large wooden doors, shower symbols with the words _Members Only_ carved into them, and what looks like _In Use/Not In Use_ signs hanging from the handles.

It’s quiet. Just the whir of the air-con and the beat of her heels as she walks towards the doors.

Only one of them has the cream sign twisted on its green rope hook so _In Use_ faces outward.

She tests the handle gently and it gives just enough to let her know that it’s unlocked. _Why?_ The strange thrill that he might be expecting her, that he knew she would have the reaction to the press that she did and hunt him down spikes in her mind.

She could wait. She really could. Settle on a bench. Wait him out. Have a calm conversation when he appears. Tell him to call Mick and take the press back and be done with it.

But then impatience swells inside her again. That - and the distant, prickly curiosity of what’s behind this door. A small voice telling her that she knows her frustration is about more than just the press.

She twists the handle down hard, bursting in to the room and letting the heavy door swing shut behind her, flicking the latch so it locks before turning back around.

There’s a row of lockers to her right, pale green metal just like everything else in this place.

Rio is standing in front of one, holding it open as he slips his sports bag inside, wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel, tied low and dangerously loose around the ridge of muscle lining his hips.

He lazily tilts his chin over his left shoulder to look at her, grabbing a smaller white towel from inside the locker as he goes to wipe beads of sweat from his forehead.

“Damn, ma. You put a tracker on me I don’t know about?” he drawls. Voice getting muffled by the cotton as he rubs it down his face, chucking it on the bench behind him when he’s done.

Beth is staring. She knows she is. But she can’t _stop_. The way the muscles in his back shift as he moves, the way his skin glistens under the harsh lighting, biting her lip at the sight.

And when he turns patiently to face her, shutting the locker as he does so, her eyes drag down the corded muscle lacing over his rib cage, the memory of stroking her hands there still alive in her fingertips.

Her gaze drops down his stomach, the salty taste of his skin suddenly hot on her tongue, dropping further until he shifts his weight side to side, the shadow of his cock pressing against the thin towel making her blush, shooting her eyes back up to his, blinking furiously, but she knows he can see the pink in her cheeks. A smug grin on his expectant face.

“Why aren’t you surprised that I’m here?” she shrills, his calm demeanour irritating her further.

He hums, lifting his chin like he knows she’s disappointed she didn’t catch him off-guard. “Mick called. Said you dipped. Figured you might show up.”

_Ugh, of course. Mick._

Beth grits her teeth, squeezing her hand tighter around the purse strap on her shoulder.

“You - you bought me a _printer!_ ” she yells.

“Oh, good, you noticed.”

“Why?! Why would you do that?” she steps towards him, closing the gap.

“Guess I’m just generous, darlin’.”

“Please.” She scoffs, “We agreed the printing side was _my_ thing. _Mine_. I didn’t need your help! I don’t want it and I _certainly_ don’t want to owe you for it.”

“You don’t owe me. It’s _yours_. That’s it.” he stresses, losing some of his patience with her.

“Fine,” Beth grits out, “Then at least let me pay for it.”

“Elizabeth, there ain’t no debt to pay. You got me, I got you, yeah? Shit, why you allowed to help me but I can’t return the favour?”

Beth blanks, she’s drifted closer to him than she realised, having to crane her neck slightly to meet his dark eyes. “What have I done for you?” she croaks out, confused.

Rio laughs, the spark touching his eyes, jaw rocking as he scans her face. “You serious?”

Beth pinches her brow together, still unsure, as Rio begins to turn his body away heading for the open shower hidden around a white brick wall behind them.

She reaches out, grabbing his wrist so he spins back. “What’re you doing?”

“Oh, I’m gonna take a shower. Y’know, the thing I came in here for?”

Beth let’s go of his hand nodding a little, but he doesn’t keep walking.

Instead, his eyes glide down her body, appreciating the way her thin dress clings to her, dipping in to her waist, the buttons opening at the top showing just a hint of cleavage. He locks his eyes on to her pink lips, his thick eyelashes cast down as he steps in closer, so close his chest touches hers.

He leans his head in slowly, aiming for her open mouth, his bottom lip hanging heavy, but swerves away at the last moment, grazing his mouth down the side of her cheek until his lips ghost over the shell of her ear.

“Wanna join me?” he purrs, breathy, unfairly husky. Enough that she has to dip her neck away from the intense tingling sensation it causes, eyes fluttering shut. And the tremor that ripples through her body tells him _yes._

Rio peels away slowly to watch on her face what he must feel in the way she shudders against him, humming like he’s pleased with what he sees, fixing his black eyes on hers as he reaches up to grip the strap of her purse from her shoulder and slides it down her arm, taking it off to discard on the bench beside them.

He turns slowly, Beth watching him saunter around the wall into the shower area like he knows she’s going to follow.

God, she hates it when he’s right.

She stomps after him, her heels making sharp echoes on the damp tiles, speeding up so she can dart around his side to face him, blocking him from the shower handle mounted in the middle of the wall a few steps behind her.

“ _Stop_.” She yells, “I wasn’t finished.”

“What do you want, Elizabeth?” he sighs.

“I want – I want you to let me do things _my_ way. When I say I’m handling something I mean it. I’m not a charity case.”

“Right. So why are you here?” he takes a step towards her, forcing her backwards as she follows his movement.

“Because – the press –”

“No, why are you _here?"_ he stresses, crowding her until her back hits the cold wall.

Her eyes jump over his face and she can feel the pace of her heart as he fills all her senses. Why _was_ she here? In a shower with him?

“I’m mad at you.” She croaks out, cause that’s a feeling she knows she can identify lodged within it all, whatever it was that drove her to this. The frustration building long before the press showed up, the murkiness of her feelings ever since he left her to quietly come undone in the ruin of her bed sheets, wondering if her touch caused him pain.

Rio nods slowly, the muscle in his jaw working hard as he peers down, restrained, but his eyes melt over her, darkly amused. “You didn’t follow me in here cause you’re mad about the press. You followed me in here cause you want me.” He lifts his right hand up to tug at the collar of her dress, running his fingers slowly down the buttons where it hangs open on her collarbone. “It’s a good excuse though.”

“How can I want you if it hurts you?” She whimpers, releasing the knot that had been tightening within her for weeks. “How can you want me?”

Rio sighs deeply, like this is something he’s already thought about and put aside, his eyes painfully sincere. “Cause it’s worth it.”

“But I make it worse.” She laments, a tear rolling down her cheek when she blinks.

“No, mama.” Rio rushes both his hands up to cup her face, forcing her to look him in the eye as he wipes the tear away. Words he doesn’t know how to say on his tongue. “No you – you make it better.” He breathes, something loosening within him too.

“I don’t understand. You said -”

“Yeah, I know what I said. And that’s how it was. But somethin’s different. Since then, I dunno it’s like - - the more I’m round you, not havin’ to hide that shit anymore, you helpin’ with it like you do, that feeling, that pain I sometimes got – it’s just faded.”

Beth struggles to speak, to make sense of it. “I help? But – but I’ve barely done anything.”

Rio smiles, stroking his thumb over the outline of her bottom lip, “You help in a way that matters.”

She feels hazy, a warm rush of relief, something like joy tugging on her cheeks as a tiny laugh escapes her.

She had struggled with what she could do. Not knowing how to heal what she couldn’t touch. Something that made her question every interaction. How could she help rid him of a feeling that was only sparked by being around her?

She never considered for a moment that she might also be the remedy.

Beth lifts her hands to his bare chest, dancing her fingertips across the smooth skin, lightly tracing every scar without hesitation. Splaying her fingers so they can touch as much of him as possible, gliding her hands down, watching as his eyes drift shut. A soft, content moan on his full lips.

“That doesn’t hurt?” she whispers.

“Nah.” He leans to rest his forehead against hers, tangling his fingers in her hair. “Just feel you.”

She continues to stroke over his torso, relishing the little sounds he makes in the back of his throat, his body swaying in to her, and with only her thin dress and the towel between them, the hard line of him pressing against her makes her roll her hips up on instinct, drawing a growl from him in response, an almost painful tightening of his grip.

He’s right. She wants him. She always wants him. Like he always wants her. With such force and need she can’t bear it. She missed feeling him, the look in his eyes when he comes inside her, the moments where he loses control, gives himself over to pleasure, the perfect storm of their bodies, something that would always haunt them. The way they can’t escape each other.

And three weeks was long enough.

“You said your shoulder felt better.” She whines, rolling her hips again, his eyes flashing open with intent, pupils blown and black as he hums in confirmation.

“Prove it.” she pleads, clawing at his skin.

The devious grin on his face tells her _you asked for it_ before he tears his hands away from her hair, taking hold of both her wrists and wrenching them high above her head, pinning them there, his mouth close enough to swallow her gasp.

His movement is different, assured and smooth, the high angle of his arm not bothering him. He keeps her pinned with his left hand as he teases her, stroking his right one down to her throat achingly slow, lower still, stopping to palm at her breast, and she shivers at the promise of being devoured.

She keens again at the feel of him hard against her, desperate for more, and the needy sound she makes pierces his calm resolve, lunging forward to kiss her, forgetting his grip on her hands to pull her close, wrapping his arms around her waist so tight she can barely breathe.

It’s messy. Burning. Kissing her deeply like he can’t get close enough, utterly consumed by a desire to get at every inch of her at once. He bites at her lower lip hard before licking over the swollen pink mark he makes, overwhelming her with his mouth.

Her hands loop round his shoulders, her nails digging in sharply to the sinewy muscle and he groans so harshly against her that she immediately stops.

“Are you okay?” she pants, a remnant of her concern seeping in.

He moans, a guttural sound as he nods, lightly brushing the tip of his nose with hers. “That wasn’t a bad sound, ma.” He purrs. “Do it again.”

She pulls his mouth back to her own before running her hands down under his arms and around to the middle of his back, scratching down his spine to grasp at the sides of his waist, pinching her nails in so his pelvis crushes against her and they both grunt as their lips part.

She drops her attention to the towel, gripping the edges and pulling it so it falls away, leaving him completely naked. He dips to grab at the sides of her dress, wrenching it up her legs, the sounds of delicately sewn buttons pinging against the tile floor as he shimmies it roughly up her thighs.

He reaches up to grab for the edge of her panties but before she can tell him not to rip them he grips the band on her hip and snaps them off, harsh enough for her whole body to jolt.

He lifts his stupid beautiful face to smirk at her as she wraps her arms around his neck again, something almost competitive in the air between them that they are both enjoying.

“I’m still mad about the press.” She bites out.

“Course you are.” He rasps, sliding his rough left hand under her thigh, yanking it up almost painfully high around his waist, opening her up to him so he can slot against her, watching the way she gasps as she flails for balance. “And I’m still not taking it back.”

He runs his right hand under her dress, eyes locked on hers, gliding his fingers between her thighs and stroking down the line of her wet cunt, the ache, the throbbing sensation, the frantic need for more making her screw her eyes shut as he sinks two fingers in to her.

He pushes them in and out slowly, catching her breathy moans in his mouth, before pulling back. “You liked the apron though, right?” When her eyes fly open his face is smug, lips tugged up, eyes so heavy lidded she can barely see them as he continues to pulse in and out, and she’s about to lie and say she hates it when he crooks his fingers in a way that makes her yelp, grinding in to his hand and arching off the wall.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Pulling his wet fingers out slowly, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean, sighing indulgently, his eyes telling her _you taste so good._

He drops his hand to his cock, yanking her leg out wider as he lines up with her centre, pausing to rub himself up and down her slick folds. “Gonna wear it for me?” he growls.

She’s so dizzy, unable to focus on anything that isn’t the tip of his cock taunting her, so desperate for him that she blanks on what he’s referring to. Taking a second to search for the meaning.

Oh. _The apron?_

“You wish _– ugh -_ ” She chokes as he suddenly buries himself inside her, slipping in easily, dropping his head to her neck.

“We’ll see.” She hears him growl softly, biting at the tender skin by her ear, sucking on it so she knows a bruise will form.

He grips her other leg then, surging up so both her feet come off the floor, his large hands gripping her ass. She scrambles, holding on with her legs, pressing her calves in to his hips, choking at the way she sinks somehow further down on to him, so deep inside her, stretching her out until she silently howls at the ceiling.

He’s not gentle as he begins to drive in to her. Proving a point with every thrust. Crushing her in to the wall to counter her weight in his hands, but his grip is so strong she barely has to hold on, her knees flailing as he rocks in to her, slow, long strokes that hit her so deep every time he pushes in her vision goes spotty, insatiable as he pants in to the hollow of her throat.

He quickens his pace and it’s so overwhelming, so frantic in desire, that she can feel herself already falling over the edge. Unable and unwillingly to hold off, she clenches around him, screaming as she comes hard, her hand falling from his shoulder and thrashing against the wall.

She hits something metal next to her and suddenly her right side is soaked with water. The shower beside them turning on where she whacked the handle.

She feels Rio shake as he laughs against her, his hips snapping faster as he chases his release, completely unbothered by the spray of cold water running down his back, making her hands slip against his skin.

He builds her up again until she’s bucking wildly, her whole body convulsing with how oversensitive she feels, like she can’t handle it, like she might snap in two. She can hear him whispering _c’mon, baby_ against her ear. Coaxing her through it as she comes again, her whole body electrified with pleasure, going limp in his arms as he curses roughly in to her neck and she feels him twitch and spill inside her when he comes too.

They cling to each other for a moment before he lowers her down and slips out of her, keeping her clutched in his arms so she doesn’t wobble on her unsteady legs.

Their foreheads press together, and both of them open their eyes in a daze, completely wrecked as they try to catch their breath.

He lifts a sluggish hand and flips the handle on the wall so the shower turns off, moving to tug at the damp tendrils of hair now sticking to her face, the short sleeve of her dress clinging to her skin.

She glances down at how damp her dress is, touches her hair, only wet and tangled on one side. She must look ridiculous.

When she looks back to Rio, he’s smiling warmly. Covered in water, looking obscenely good, making her heart rate pick up all over again. Her eyes trace the water caught on his eyelashes, distracted by the heavy droplet that rolls off his pouty bottom lip.

“This is a good look, darlin’.” A gorgeous mixture of lust and delight on his face before he dips his head to lick at the skin of her neck, kissing the moisture off her skin.

“I have to go back to my car like this.” She sighs, feeling him chuckle roughly before he pulls back, tucking the damp hair behind her ear, smoothing it gently so she looks as presentable as possible.

“Worth it though.” He beams at her, content. Something impish in the tug of his lips. His eyebrows quirking up, the wrinkles she loves at the corners of his eyes.

And _yeah_ , she thinks.

_It’s worth it._

* * * * *

Beth sprawls out across her bed, the sounds of light rain filtering in from outside the French doors on a Wednesday afternoon.

Rio stretches an arm out for her to rest her head on, tucking her in to his side while they catch their breath.

Wednesdays had become work-from-home days. But she never got much work done.

Her toes nudge the violet half apron rumpled at the foot of the bed. Defeated by her own need to see his reaction to it and a compulsion to shock him, she had dipped in to the bathroom earlier to tie it on. He was blathering about Marcus breaking a toy plane he spent ages building and an issue with the last batch of money and how sick he was of Annie and Mick bickering at drops - when she came back in to the room and he suddenly went mute.

And the awestruck expression on his face when she’d crawled on top him, wearing the apron and nothing else, had felt more like a victory.

He’d left it on while he fucked her, growling as he savoured the image before lurching up from the bed, relishing her giggles as he flipped their bodies, bending her over on all fours, gripping her hip in one hand and the bow tied on her back in the other as he slid in and out of her, until it came undone and fell away, forgotten at some point in the mess of the sheets.

She feels him shift next to her, rolling over to cover her body, kissing in to the nape of her neck lazily.

“How many sessions have you missed now?” She sighs as he comes to rest his weight above her again, nuzzling in to her hair.

She had asked him earlier why he was missing so many therapy sessions, choosing instead to come to her on Wednesdays, when he still needed help.

His pain was mostly gone, he had regained most of his strength in his arm and he could it move it without worrying about shooting pains or that broken glass sensation he once described to her.

He could play with Marcus again.

But his hand still went numb sometimes, he still had discomfort, he would still ask her to help with his shirt buttons. If he got cocky and overdid it, his shoulder would ache for the whole next day. Like it had the day after she barged in to his shower at the Tennis Club.

She still did exercises with him occasionally, but he wouldn’t listen when she told him to stick with his OT for a little while longer, just in case.

“Told you.” He mumbles against her sternum, “Don’t need that anymore.”

She tickles down his back, painting circles on his spine. “What about your fancy private therapist lady?”

“Nah. Prefer you.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He lifts his head to look her in the eye. “True,” hovering his mouth over hers, a playful tug to his lips, “but you really good wit’ your hands, ma.”

She pushes on his chest so he rises up to look her in the eyes again. “I’m serious.”

“Oh, me too.” He teases.

She rolls her eyes, nudging him off her so she can slide to the edge of the bed, but his arm wraps around her middle before she can get too far.

“Elizabeth.” He nudges her to turn back to him, but she remains faced away, tired of trying to get him back in his proper therapy room, of him acting like he’s suddenly invincible.

“Elizabeth, would you look at me?” he urges, his tone less playful, enough for her to give in to his arm pulling her back to him, rolling so she can look him in the eye, his face open and earnest.

“I ain’t playin’ wit’ you. I was going that place for weeks and nothin’ was really changing but now –” his hand tightens on her waist in reflex to whatever thought is running through his mind, “This is what works. This has been makin’ it better. _You_. That’s it.”

She forgets to breathe for a moment, letting his words wash over her. The meaningful look in his eyes, the sentiment pouring out of them.

She just nods in response, letting her hands run over his chest. Absentmindedly drawing patterns from scar to scar. She traces the blurry tiger on his shoulder, running her fingers down to the bars on the back of his arm, pulling her eyes up to count the feathers on his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the ink as he watches her appraise him.

She thinks about how she knows everything about the three scars on his chest, what they mean, the damage, the history, the healing. And yet she has no idea what drove him to get all these tattoos. Marks on his body she doesn’t fully understand.

“What do your tattoos mean?” She blurts out, and judging by the way he smirks, his brow furrowing, he wasn’t expecting that.

“S’long story.” He mutters, shaking his head like he wouldn’t know where to begin.

“I got time.” She whispers.

He meets her gaze, staring for a moment, unbearably tender, enough to make her wriggle nervously in his embrace. But he holds her firm, pressed to his warm skin, soothing his hand down her arm.

So he tells her. And she laughs. Laughs so hard tears come out of her eyes when he relates the story behind the tiger and claws on his shoulder.

He silences her with languid kisses, swallowing the sweet sound, turning her laughter in to breathless moans.

And for the first time in too long - nothing hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading this story and all the lovely comments! It's really spurred me on and i'm so grateful :)


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